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FORESTFIELD 




FORESTFIELD WAS A TYPICAL SOUTHERN MANSION. 






FORESTFIELD 


A STORY OF 
THE OLD SOUTH 

(IN TWO PERIODS) 


BY 

ROBERT THOMSON BENTLEY 



THE GRAFTON PRESS 
NEW YOEK 



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Copyright, 1903, 

BY 

THE GEAFTON PRESS 




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DEDICATION 

T O those who still linger upon the verge of the last 
generation, and look back with patriotic but mel- 
ancholy pleasure to the days of the Old South, 
when Southern chivalry was in flower, and when the better 
type of the Anglo-Saxon was found in the land of slavery 
and of Ootton, this volume is respectfully dedicated by 

THE AUTHOR. 


I. 


CONTENTS 


FIRST PERIOD 

PAGE 

The Estate 1 

lu an Old-Fashioned Garden 8 

The Grave of a Stranger 21 

For Wealth or Worth? 28 

A Sincere Betrothal 41 

With Reference to a Wedding 48 

The Marriage of Elizabeth 58 

A Bridal Tour and a Tragedy 68 

Jim and the Slave-Stealers 82 

Detective Work in Two Senses 90 

A Ministry of Mercy 100 

The Fugitives in Sight 107 

On the Block 116 

Homeward Bound with the Prisoners 122 

A Rescue Attempted 132 

A Quiet Sabbath by the Way 141 

The Village Forum 147 

The Spirit of Intolerance 158 

Two Gentlemen of the Old South 

V 


168 


VI 


CONTENTS 


SECOND PERIOD 



PAGE 

Preparing for War 

181 

A Discussion and a Vision 

193 

After the Battle 

201 

A Strange Discovery 

213 

The Captain’s Revenge 

226 

The Death of Uncle Ned 

240 

A Mysterious Individual 

248 

A Late Solution 

256 

Life under the Blockade 

264 

Only a Dirt-dobber’s Nest 

273 

A Tragedy at the Door 

281 

Ashes— Desolation 

291 

At the Overseer’s House 

801 

The Dawn of Peace 

312 

A Dream of the Future 

319 

Our Soldiers’ Return 

328 

An Unconquered Hero 

336 

A Willing Sacrifice 

345 

The Many Marisions 

355 


FORESTFIELD 


FIRST PERIOD 1850-1856 


✓ 



FORESTFIELD 


FIRST PERIOD 1850-1856 


CHAPTEE I. 

THE ESTATE. 

F ORESTFIELD was a typical Southern mansion, 
dilapidated specimens of which still stand here and 
there as crumbling monuments to the glory of the 
Old South. Its compound name was derived from its 
chief constituents: its noble and extensive forests and its 
wide and fertile fields. 

The estate belonged originally to the Granvilles — John 
Granville having settled it near the close of the eighteenth 
century — and the title has not yet departed from the ances- 
tral line. John Granville, with his family, removed from 
Virginia to North Alabama (then within the Mississippi 
territory) at the above date, and realizing the latter to be 
a goodly country purchased a section of land and entered 
at once upon its improvement. He brought with him a 
number of slaves, through the increase of whom he was 
eventually able to add another section of land to his plan- 
tation. 

No effeminate race has ever been successfully initiated 
into slavery. The negro, with his brawny frame and stout 

1 


2 


FOEESTFIELD 


muscles, has laid the foundation of the material prosperity 
of the South good and strong — a task which no other race, 
perhaps, could have performed so effectually in so short a 
time. The white man’s brain, supplemented by the black 
man’s brawn, brought to pass this stupendous achievement; 
and without the latter’s remarkable strength and endurance 
the former would have had no fulcrum upon which to rest 
his intellectual lever. Let the pioneer escutcheon of the 
South be a white man standing upon the shoulders of a 
negro and lifting aloft a banner bearing the inscription: 
'Trogress.” 

After erecting and residing in a temporary abode for a 
few years, John Granville built the mansion of Forestfield, 
making the bricks of his own red clay and sawing the lum- 
ber from his own trees, consisting of yellow poplar, red 
cedar and sturdy oak, both the work of preparation and 
construction being done chiefly by his own skilled me- 
chanics. With the hand brick-mould and the whipsaw, 
and much energy and patience, he erected a building that 
would have done credit to the inhabitants of an older 
country ; for to construct a stately mansion upon the fron- 
tier, within sight of the eighteenth century, was no child’s 
play. The house was a commodious structure, with its 
wide halls, expansive rooms, lofty columns, and ample 
stairways; and, withal, it was as imposing as a Grecian 
temple, and constructed against the wear of the ages. 

My apartment, during my sixteen years’ abode at Forest- 
field, was the upper northwest room at the front of the 
house, looking through a broad window and across the bal- 
cony toward the sunset — a location in any house devoutly 
to be wished. Here came up refreshing winds from the 
west, when the sultry day was gone, which shook the foliage 
of the forest damp with dew, or swept the misty clouds along 
the evening sky and let the starlight in. Here the depart- 


FORESTFIELD 


3 


ing sun laid his last radiant smile upon the housetop as 
the vales below received the first shadows of the twilight; 
and here I often stood to receive the calm and sweet bene- 
diction of the descending night. From this watch-tower — 
as it were another “Window in Thrums” — I viewed the 
manifold events of this story for sixteen years. 

North of the mansion lay the ample garden, and beyond 
that the family burying-ground. Toward the west, upon a 
gentle slope a quarter of a mile in extent from the front of 
the house, stood a magnificent forest, consisting chiefiy of 
tall poplars, sturdy oaks, and ridged chestnuts — a severed 
section, as it were, of the forest primeval. And for ten feet 
above ground scarcely a vestige of undergrowth appeared 
to obstruct the view, save an occasional mammoth grape- 
vine, or some other parasitic climber, that let down its pen- 
dent cables toward the earth. Beneath the trees, right up 
to their gnarled and sprawling roots, grew the green grass 
dotted with the varied tints of beautiful wild flowers. And 
standing within this noble wood, contemplating its vastness 
and grandeur, one could hardly doubt the statement of the 
poet that “the groves were God’s first temples.” 

Along the boughs of the trees sported the frisky squirrel 
unafraid ; among the leaves sang the untrammeled birds in 
fulsome joy; while between the trunks could frequently be 
seen the fleet-footed deer as he sped unpursued upon his 
way or stopped to gaze at some human intruder upon his 
native haunts. 

Toward the east — twenty miles away — ^loomed the double 
range of the Cumberlands, one blue and misty terrace, as it 
were, peeping above another, and both sloping lengthwise 
southward, in graceful undulations, into the bend of the 
Tennessee. Over these have I often seen the sun rise in his 
splendor and from behind which the moon glide in her 
beauty. 


4 


FOEESTFIELD 


Toward the south lay the broad and cultivated fields in 
virgin freshness, deep of soil and inexhaustible, where in 
the proper season the luxuriant corn, tossing its tasseled 
plumes in the breeze, smote its dark-green leaves together 
and rejoiced; where the soft-leaved cotton, waving its ban- 
ners of morning-white and evening-red to the sun, smiled 
to its neighboring fields; while the golden wheat, bending 
beneath the burden of its wealth, rippled before the wind 
like a restless lake bathed in the saffron sunlight of de- 
parting day. 

East of the ^fi)ig house,’^ and some distance from the hill 
upon which it stood, were the negro quarters, consisting of 
log cabins of one or two rooms, arranged a short distance 
apart upon either side of a well-used road leading out upon 
the plantation — a country village of black and brown inhab- 
itants, with but one street. A narrow grove of trees, 
stretching along parallel with and about the quarters, 
served as a means of shade, and under which, from day to 
day, in summer, you might have seen a number of piccanin- 
nies rolling and tumbling upon the grass, as the larger ones 
cared for the smaller while their daddies and mammies 
were at work in the fields. The cabins in their coats of 
whitewash looked fresh and cool and in becoming contrast 
with the green leaves over their roofs. 

The quarters were located purposely below and in full 
view from the overseer’s house (which stood upon the same 
elevation with the “big house”), so that functionary might 
maintain a careful oversight of the cabins, and from which 
the “rising horn,” which he blew every morning, might be 
heard the better by the negroes. 

Still further out upon the plantation stood the gin-house, 
which was run in season by the strength of six or eight 
horses or mules, and into which was emptied the heaping 
hampers of snowy cotton as it came from the fields upon the 


FOEESTFIELD 6 

heads of the pickers in long procession. Near the gin- 
house — its inseparable companion — stood the tall baling- 
screw, with its long levers and heavy block, and its little 
roof perched upon the top, like a boy’s hat upon the head 
of a tall man. 

Down near the creek stood the overshot gristmill, the 
power of whose waters was sometimes divided between the 
millstones and the whipsaw. And although time had dec- 
orated both the roof and the wheel with green moss, and the 
constantly dripping water had eaten holes into the sills as 
doth the moth into the garment, day by day and night by 
night, it yet filled the shadowy bottom with the hum of its 
shafts and pinions and with the roar of the escaping fioods. 

The dark-faced miller, whitened by the flying meal, 
looked twenty years older than he was and prematurely 
gray, as he peered out of the mill-house door watching for 
the coming grist, or stooped to shoulder a sack of corn that 
added to his whitened “kink’’ a hump upon his back. 

And there, too, was the stage road stretching north and 
south, like a brown ribbon across the bosom of the hill ; and 
disappearing over a rounded shoulder it undulated away 
and was lost in the distance. Here the stage-coach — drawn 
by four horses and burdened with its passengers and lug- 
gage — came and went, heralded by the cheerful notes of the 
bugle whose winding blasts seemed to leap from hill to hill, 
to sport along the valleys, and at last in gentle echoes to 
pass off into the silence beyond. This was the signal for the 
children of the “big house” (and sometimes myself), fol- 
lowed by the piccaninnies of the quarters, to scamper down 
to the lawn gate, climb upon the staked and ridered fence 
and “claim” everything in sight, from the stage and its 
horses to the buckles on the harness. 

Ah! the passengers who would look out upon us, from 
time to time, through those passing windows: a dignified 


6 


FORESTFIELB 


statesman — ^his clean-shaven face set by the cares of state — 
upon his way to Washington; a callow youth, with a hope- 
ful and ambitious look toward the temple of learning, mak- 
ing his way to college; or a sweet girl graduate laughing 
with exultant joy in anticipation of reaching her distant 
home, bearing to her proud parents her perfumed diploma 
tied with a blue ribbon; or some happy couple, but lately 
joined in wedlock’s uncertain bonds, fleeing from the too- 
familiar scenes of common things, to enjoy unobserved (if 
possible) the flrst fruits of the nuptial Eden. And some- 
times from among these — like an immortelle thrust into a 
bouquet of amaranths — sad faces of sorrow looked out as 
they passed on their journey toward the desolate shadows 
of death and bereavement. Even now — after fifty years — 
the rumble of those heavy but rapid wheels, making bass 
for the treble of the bugle, comes to me as a De Profundis 
from the past. 

Nature, too — during those sixteen years — spoke to us 
in many tongues, the echoes of whose mystic voices still 
linger upon the ear and the spirit thereof within the 
heart. The roaring winds of winter driving us closer about 
the glowing warmth of the old-fashioned fireplace, where we 
spoke sadly of the bitter past and joyously of the hopeful 
future; the song of the bird, falling from the summer roof- 
tree as a shower of melody, to refresh and strengthen us for 
the darker dispensations of life; or the cheerful cricket 
chirping his happy cadences under the hearthstone, to teach 
us that there is contentment for the humble and the lowly 
mind. 

The region of Northern Alabama — separated from its 
fatherland by the waters of the Tennessee — is a goodly 
land. Of middle latitude, torrid suns rarely beat down 
upon its breezy hills and frigid storms seldom invade its 
'sunny vales. The azure skies above bend down to mingle 


FORESTFIELD 


7 


with the mountain's blue, as heaven would stoop to kiss 
the rising earth. At the south wind’s breath the flowers 
bloom in beauty and the grass springs fresh; a balm is in 
the air rich with the fragrance of the new-born leaves ; the 
birds, awakened to renascent life. All the cool woods with 
melody and love. 

The summer comes on apace with bluer skies flecked 
with fleecy clouds which seldom form into destructive ranks, 
or let fly the deadly bolt, or sweep the earth with wild and 
unleashed winds. The scorching drouth, that burns the 
bread of man and blade of beast, comes only at long inter- 
vals, and always leaves enough for comfort and a meed to 
spare. Nor doth the industrious, patient husbandman wait 
long in vain for the coming of the early and the later rain. 

Brown autumn, burdened with its corn and wine, lingers 
but short to take the place of summer. A golden haze, that 
bringeth perfect peace, settles upon the hills and out of 
which the mottled woods appear in phase subdued. Gray 
ranks of clouds, urged by the western wind, traverse the sky, 
as homing birds return from exile to their native land. The 
frost, with lenient hand, touches with ripening rime the 
crimson apple and the golden pear ; the woodland nuts drop 
crisply to the ground; and man in grateful gladness puts 
forth his hand to take the offerings of the gracious year. 

In the midst of this beautiful and generous region lay 
the old plantation of Forestfleld, around which still cluster 
pleasing recollections, though mingled, as its lights and 
shadows, with the alternations of laughter and of tears. 


8 


FORESTFIELD 


CHAPTER II. 

IN AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN. 

T he most sacred spot upon the plantation of Forest- 
field — save the family burying-ground — ^was its 
ample garden. There was only this difference be- 
tween them: the former was made sacred by the dispensa- 
tions of bereavement and sorrow ; the latter became so as it 
recalled the pleasing associations of bygone years. 

The resting-place of the dead — in the Old South of the 
fifties and before — was not called ^^the cemetery’’ or ‘^the 
graveyard,” as it is nowadays, but was known as “the 
burying-ground.” The first title was perhaps too ambig- 
uous and the second too suggestive of ghosts, while the 
third was significant, easily understood and without dread. 
Furthermore, it approached the more poetic appellation of 
“God’s Acre,” where the pious planted the bodies of their 
sainted dead in the hope of the first resurrection. 

As regards the other sacred spot — ^the subject of this 
chapter — it was generally called the “gwarden,” according 
to the old Virginia style : plain, broad, but dignified. And 
the old-fashioned gwarden of Forestfield contained near an 
acre of land, and was furnished with more flowers than 
vegetables, by which the ornamental was allowed to tran- 
scend the useful — an exception to the custom of the period. 
Yet there was ample room for both to grow to perfection. 
There the rose seemed to rival the cabbage, the tulip to con- 
tend with the onion, and the perfume of the hyacinth to 
struggle with the healthful odor of the sage. 


FOEESTFIELD 


Upon the tall picket fence that inclosed the garden grew 
the manifold hop-vine, suggesting many a light loaf and 
many an alleviating poultice; while near by climbed the 
vigorous, dark-green cowhage with its reddish golden trum- 
pets mingling with the white banners of the fragrant elder. 
And there, too, was the morning-glory drinking the dew in 
its freshness as the sun came up, or closing its eyelids in 
slumber at eventide, from which sleep it should never 
awake, while the honeysuckle, famous for its liberality 
with its treasures, contributed more than its share of fra- 
grance to that wilderness of sweets. 

But in a more tender if not in a more conspicuous sense 
there bloomed also the bridal wreath and its antitheses, the 
immortelles; the former to adorn the altar of conjugal love 
and the latter to wreathe the casket of the dead. And time 
would fail me to mention at length the flaunting hollyhock, 
the rounded snowball, the crape myrtle with its purple 
plumes, the sunflower’s gladdening face, blue-bottles in the 
grass, lilies of the valley, the modest violet, the thought- 
ful pansy or the friendly pinks massed along the borders 
of the smooth and ample walks. Besides, there were the 
sweet-scented lavender that made our wardrobes sweet, the 
pungent thyme and the flowering almond; an aromatic 
trio that fragrantly embalmed the old-fashioned garden in 
all our hearts. 

And there was the old-fashioned garden gate, built when 
workmen were more honest and careful, whose hinges had 
creaked nigh unto a generation, and whose latch had clicked 
in unison for an equal length of time. Ah ! that wide and 
welcome gate, through which the feet of children — now 
gone the way of all the earth — used to patter and upon 
whose bottom railing they used to stand peering into the 
garden, or perchance to take a clandestine ride as it swung 
around upon its daily duties. 


10 


FOEESTFIELD 


And the walks, too, as wide and welcome as the gate, 
along which successive generations had passed, perchance to 
gather vegetables or to pluck flowers for nosegays; or per- 
haps, with bowed head and folded hands, they strolled in 
meditation deep at twilight^s quiet hour. 

But the old-fashioned garden was vocal as well as pictur- 
esque when the bluebird twittered in the days of spring and 
the mocking bird sang through the autumn nights. And 
there the cricket chirped in cheerfulness and the katydid 
rasped its melancholy notes. But more significant than 
these were the human voices that murmured within the old 
summer-house in the midst of the garden, over whose lat- 
ticed wall ran the virgin bower and within which were 
rustic seats where one might retire to muse with his own 
thoughts or to peruse the thoughts of others. There, no 
doubt, vows of love were plighted and fervent prayers were 
offered; for the ancestral race that lived and died at For- 
estfield was both susceptive and devout. 

I remember that old garden myself, where I romped 
with the children, playing ‘^chickomy — chickomy — crany — 
crow,” and ^^hide-and-seek,” and ‘‘can you get there by 
candle-light,” with other equally foolish but delightful 
gambols of childhood. With half a dozen or more little 
“chicks” swaying to my coat-tails, as I flung them around 
like the lash of a whip, lest the “old witch” should get 
them, I have spent many a lightsome and happy hour 
within that old-fashioned garden. And in memory of those 
days the following lines come back to me ; 

“Chickomy — chickomy — crany — crow, 

I went to the well to wash my toe; 

But when I came back all my chickens were gone. 

What time, old witch ?” 

Then dispersing, and forming again into two companies, 
we took our stands at two bases, from which we would chal- 


FOEESTFIELD 


11 


lenge one another with the question: ‘^Can I get there 
by candle-light The defiant answer would quickly 
come back: ^^Yes, if your legs are long enough.” We all 
then wished that we had on a pair of seven-league boots. 
And many a time have I climbed the trees at the back of 
the garden to shake down the smooth, plump nectarines 
into the children’s hats and aprons; or, amid the fresh- 
ness and sparkle of dewy mornings, have I plucked the 
last rose of summer for sixteen years. And now, as the 
tinkle of bells coming up the hill from a sunny meadow, 
methinks I hear — 

“Light laughter borne across the years — 

Of children that I knew at play, 

Within a garden long ago.” 

Although the old-fashioned garden at Forestfield — dur- 
ing the sixteen years that I was permitted to look over its 
picket fence from the balcony — had many a visitor, there 
are only four whose images now rise before me and de- 
mand the leading part in this story. It is true that many 
others looked in upon our circle from time to time, flatten- 
ing their noses against the window pane — toward whom we 
looked with a furtive glance — but they soon turned away 
into the night and were forgotten. And what could be a 
more befitting frame for the portraits of those plain but 
sterling characters of former days than the picket fence of 
an old-fashioned garden? 

Daniel and Jane Pemrose, the dual head of the estate 
of Forestfield — after John Granville and his wife — ^were a 
noble couple. Typical Southerners of the old regime, they 
were cultured and refined, and pious withal, and were 
worthy examples of the times when Southern chivalry was 
in flower. Slaveholders? Yes. But after the Scriptural 


13 


FOEESTFIELD 


model: “Forbearing threatening; knowing that thevr Mas- 
ter is also in heaven/^ 

But when I went to abide at his home Daniel Pemrose 
was not there. The fever of the summer before had taken 
him away, and he then lay within the family burying- 
ground, just between the garden and the field. And when 
the breezes blew softly from the south, they wafted over his * 
grave the perfume of the fiowers which he had planted with 
his own hands in the days of his stalwart youth. 

But Cousin Jane was at Forestfield when I came, in the 
desolation of recent widowhood, and as fair and frail as the 
lily that bloomed in her garden. She had always lived 
there — ^was born there in 1810 — and became the sole heir to 
the estate, according to certain circumstances which shall 
be related hereafter. She was my cousin — a faraway 
cousin — ^that distant relationship which always lends en- 
chantment to the view. Not so near as“to be scolded, nor so 
far away as to be discarded as a kinsman. But it seemed at 
the time that her heart had been buried with her husband. 

The reader must be content to look upon the face of 
Cousin Daniel as it beamed upon me from the canvas, for 
I knew him not in the fiesh. His portrait hung in the par- 
lor, just where Cousin Jane had placed it the day after his 
interment. It was an excellent likeness, they said ; his rich 
brown hair — broached at the top and brushed forward above 
his ears — partly surrounded a ruddy face of gentle dignity. 
His was a face of intelligence and refinement that betrayed 
the culture and gentle breeding of the lineage from which 
he sprang. And as the large, dark-blue eyes looked down 
upon you from the wall, they revealed a soul of gentleness 
and integrity. Daniel Pemrose was a Southern cavalier, 
it was said, with a heart of translucent whiteness, and who 
exhibited a liberal share of the esprit de corps of Southern 
gentlemen. And I could not but regret that so noble a nian 


FOEESTFIELD 


13 


had been cut down in the midst of life, and wondered if I 
should see his like again. 

As for Cousin Jane, it might be sufficient to say that 
she was a worthy companion of her husband. But she was 
more than that, in a sense, having a character that could 
stand pre-eminently alone. With a comely figure and attrac- 
tive features, a bright and cultured mind, gentle man- 
ners and a pious heart, she needed little else to fit her for 
the most exalted station of womanhood. And although 
she would have shone to greater advantage in the midst of 
her children at home than upon the platform before a 
popular audience and would have appeared more devout 
and obedient teaching the piccaninnies of the quarters 
upon a Sabbath afternoon than presiding over a delibera- 
tive body, yet she would not have suffered one whit in com- 
parison with her sisters in these latter days, who affect to 
see nobler duties lying beyond their providential sphere 
than are found within the reach of their soft and soothing 
hands, nearer home. Alas! for the fading type of the 
stately matronage of the Old South, whose pride was with- 
out haughtiness, whose dignity was unrestrained, and whose 
gentleness was as the falling of the dews. 

But to portray the character of my kinswoman more 
accurately I shall have to appeal to the words of King Lem- 
uel, the prophecy which his mother taught him: “She 
openeth her mouth with wisdom, and her tongue is the law 
of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, 
and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children rise 
up and call her blessed ; her husband also, and he praiseth 
her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou ex- 
cellest them all. Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain; 
but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.’’ 

And there was Elizabeth — the eldest child — a sweet 
daughter of twenty, with no higher commendation than 


14 


FOEESTFIELD 


that she was the counterpart of her mother. And as a 
rosebud that seemeth to wait the falling of the petals of its 
predecessor before blushing into full bloom and maturity, 
she sat at the feet of Cousin Jane and learned the lessons 
of wisdom and obedience. She also was my cousin of one 
remove further away; and I found myself often throbbing 
at the heart with family pride that our tree could have 
borne so comely a blossom. Notwithstanding her rich 
brown hair and liquid blue eyes, her fair complexion and 
regular features, her soul was more beautiful than her form. 
And although I sometimes meet her yet, with silver threads 
among the brown, and the light of her eyes grown dim, as 
she passes feebly on, there still remain vestiges of her 
whilom beauty, as delicate and exquisite tracery interrupted 
upon the broken urn. 

Cousin Jane used to frequently tell me (in her daughter’s 
absence) that Elizabeth was beautiful in her sight, and 
the same was true in the sight of others. But the feature 
which seemed to make her more beautiful was the fact that 
she knew it not. This fact, which was noted from her 
childhood, impelled her mother to take extra care to pre- 
serve and cultivate her comeliness, that she might show, as 
she said, her appreciation of so estimable a gift from the 
Creator, and to teach her daughter that it is not a vain 
thing to be beautiful. Accordingly, there was no vanity in 
her airs nor haughtiness in her manner. 

As for Edward and Alice — ^the two younger children — 
their portraits must needs be drawn upon the same canvas, 
side by side. Not that they were twins, for when I came to 
Forestfield in 1850, to guide them along the uncertain 
paths of learning, the former was ten and the latter eight 
years old. But they were almost inseparable, and I loved 
them only as one. Hand in hand as children, like unto 
Paul and Virginia, they went tripping adown the green 


FORESTFIELD 


15 


lane of youth into the main-traveled road of life, then 
trudged up-hill and down for a few rough miles, when Ed- 
ward rested first at the wayside inn of the tomb. It was 
always ''Edward and Alice’' to me in life, and it is the same 
to me until this day. 

Between Elizabeth and Edward there was a desolate space 
of ten years, made so by the absence of another brother and 
sister — Charles and Jeanette, or little Jane — ^who had 
fallen asleep before their father died, and whom I never 
knew, save through the loving reports of biased friends. 
But Cousin Jane, like the little cottage girl, always con- 
tended in her pious way that still they were seven : four on 
earth and three in heaven. And I never disputed her. All 
these have left footprints on the garden walks, and although 
invisible to the natural eye they are still seen by the vision 
of memory. But since then two of the four have joined the 
three, and I suppose, even in heaven. Cousin J ane still con- 
tends that they are seven. 

As I have already said, I loved Edward and Alice as 
only one, and they seemed to love "Cousin Morris” in 
return; the sincerity of whose affection no one could 
doubt, as he beheld them contending for the seat on my 
knee, or clinging to my hands, or hugging me around the 
legs as I walked. Really, they were tangled up in my affec- 
tions as two fiies in a spider’s web, except they did not 
struggle for liberty. And when our frolics and rambles 
were over, we were delighted to sit in some retired place and 
talk ; on which occasion I often found that the "thoughts of 
youth are long, long thoughts.” 

Upon an early spring day, soon after I came to Forest- 
field, my children, as I sometimes called them, were sit- 
ting within the latticed summer-house in the center of the 
garden. This was three-fourths of a year after the death of 
Cousin Daniel, as we measure time by the tardy speed of 


16 


FOKESTFIELD 


grief that moveth under shadows like a snail. And stroll- 
ing into the garden myself about this time, and hearing the 
voices of the children, I was tempted to play the eaves- 
dropper, and at once approached the summer-house to hear 
what they were saying. They had repaired thither to study 
the lessons which I had assigned them in Webster’s blue- 
back speller and in McGuffy’s reader. Those were the days 
of the three K’s : ^‘Heading, ’Kiting, and ’Rithmetic” — ^be- 
yond which curriculum few ever aspired. ^ 

Who can ever forget Webster’s blue-back speller, fron- 
tis-pieced by a picture of the Temple of Fame, surmounted 
by the goddess of learning; while nearby stood a man 
dressed in a Roman toga, holding a youth by the hand and 
pointing upward to the goddess, as if he would inspire his 
pupil to climb the dizzy height, snatch the laurel wreath 
from the brow of the exalted patron and place it on his own 
head ? And who can forget the secular parables found upon 
the closing pages: ^Tray in Bad Company,” ‘‘Soft and 
Harsh Means,” and “It Depends upon Whose Ox is 
Gored” — and each illustrated by an appropriate picture? 
I remember when 1 first read and contemplated those para- 
bles; how I both blamed and pitied old dog Tray, gritted 
vengeance upon my teeth at the man who threw stones at 
the boy up the apple tree and became disgusted at the in- 
justice of the lawyer whose bull had gored the farmer’s ox. 
These wise lessons of the olden days, when teachers taught 
uprightness rather than style, made a wholesome and last- 
ing impression upon my mind and life. 

I intended to say, before the above digression, that when 
I cautiously approached the summer-house, I heard my 
little pupils conning their lessons with all their might, 
going over the famous column of b-a-k-e-r, baker ; s-h-a-d-y, 
shady; 1-a-d-y, lady; p-o-k-e-r, poker, in the regulation 
tone. Then Edward would “give out” to Alice, and Alice 


FOEESTFIELD 


17 


would ^^give out” to Edward, in order to test their famil- 
iarity with the task. And when Edward would miss a 
word, which he did more often than his sister, he would 
complain: '‘You didn’t give it out right, Alice!” 

"Yes, I did,” replied his sister; "you just wanted an- 
other chance.” 

But soon becoming tired of study, they closed their books, 
and fell to talking about their father’s death. 

"Father’s been dead a long time, hasn’t he, Edward?” 
asked Alice, drawing out the word long with a child’s em- 
phasis. 

"Yes, he has,” replied Edward, in a tone of sadness ; "but 
he is in heaven now,” he added, as if to comfort his sister 
with some assurance of their father’s whereabouts. 

"I know he is,” responded the little girl ; " ’cause mother 
said so.” 

"Don’t you reckon brother Charles and sister Jeanette 
were mighty glad when they saw him coming?” asked Ed- 
ward. 

"I ’speck so. Maybe they thought he would bring them 
some candy.” 

"W’y, Alice ! You know they don’t eat candy in heaven. 
Mother says they eat milk and honey, and walk on the 
golden streets.” 

"Well, when I die and go to heaven I’m goin’ to ask God 
to give me some candy — I don’t like honey. You reckon 
there are any bees in heaven, Edward?” 

"W’y, of course there are,” replied Edward, with sur- 
prise; "how could there be honey mthout bees? There 
are flowers there, too.” 

"I don’t care. I wish father hadn’t died, anyhow,” re- 
plied the little girl, very conclusively, as her thoughts sud- 
denly turned earthward; "’cause it makes mother look so 
lonesome.” 


18 


FOEESTFIELD 


'‘But ain’t Cousin Morris McClure here?” asked Ed- 
ward, in a consoling way. "He can be our father.” 

"I love Cousin Morris most as good as I did father ; don’t 
you, Edward ?” ventured Alice, with much sincerity. 

"Cousin Morris is mighty good to us,” replied the brother, 
with hesitation; "but you know, Alice, he couldn’t be as 
good as father.” 

Eealizing that I had fallen into the predicament of an 
eavesdropper who is being criticised, I undertook to with- 
draw unobserved. But the children appeared at the en- 
trance, and seeing me, ran and gathered hold of my hands 
and led me about the garden at their own pleasure. 

The time for "books” having arrived, we returned to the 
house, entered the library, and found several others of my 
pupils present for recitations. A small number of chil- 
dren living in close proximity to Forestfield were allowed 
to attend my school, as we thought that some competition 
would likely stimulate Edward and Alice to greater effort, 
and among whom were Jack Saunders and Mary Bee, who 
were of the respective ages of our children. 

It proved, in the sequel, that Jack was to Alice what 
Edward was to Mary Bee, and out of the lives of this quar- 
tet came some loving and sad sequences which give this 
story some of its highest coloring. In Jack there was 
nothing eccentric nor abnormal, but Mary Bee was a nonde- 
script, and so much so that she was known and called by her 
two Christian names only. Petite, pretty, clever, cheerful, 
independent and affectionate, she had a quality for every- 
body and was universally admired and beloved. She had a 
father and mother and brothers and sisters who were wor- 
thy, it is true, but she needed them not to give her prestige, 
for after all she was nothing more than Mary Bee. 

The curriculum of my little school did not embrace all 
the knowledge within the library of Forestfield, where I 


FORESTFIELD 


19 


taught, for behind the diamond-sashed doors of the ample 
cherry bookcase stood in order many an old-fashioned vol- 
ume, placed there years before, and taken out and 
perused until they bore the marks of frequent use. In those 
days books were read more for the sake of knowledge and 
utility than for pleasure and pastime. 

For history, there were the pious Rollin, the nervous 
Gibbon, the elegant Macaulay, and the accomplished Ban- 
croft; for poetry and drama, there were the inexhaustible 
Shakespeare, the apocalyptic Milton, the didactic Cowper, 
and the lowly Burns; for romance, there were the wizard 
Scott, the gentle Irving, the adventurous Cooper, and the 
weird Hawthorne ; and for theology, there were the learjied 
Clarke, the orthodox Edwards, the ponderous Chalmers, 
and the systematic Wesley. And as a huge stack of sound 
and nutritious grain these were capped off with the Holy 
Bible, and thus sanctified for use. As a duplicate of many 
other libraries of the land and time it stood for the culture 
of the mind, the refinement of the manners and the sal- 
vation of the soul. Let Solomon admonish : ‘‘ Say not thou, 
what is the cause that the former days were better than 
these? for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this.^^ 
Yet I will answer him out of the mouth of Job: ^‘For in- 
quire, I pray thee, of the former age, and prepare thyself 
to search of their fathers. . . . Shall not they teach 

thee, and tell thee, and utter words out of their heart 

The reading of the library, supplemented by the medita- 
tion of the garden, gave wisdom and health in those days, 
and amid such environments grew up sterling characters 
which have become the valuable heritage of these latter 
days. 

The old-fashioned garden is not there now, save a few 
struggling crocuses and blue-bottles that would not yield 
to the devastations of time, and an old-fashioned rosebush 


20 


FORESTFIELD 


that still blooms every year as a belated specimen of the 
floral beauty of other days. Over all passes the relentless 
plowshare, cutting through erstwhile flower-beds and an- 
cient walks, and obliterating all the landmarks once so 
dearly loved. 

We shall never again promenade the walks, nor pluck the 
flowers, nor sit within the summer-house of that old garden, 
save by the mythical proxy of memory. 


FORESTFIELD 


21 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE GRAVE OF A STRANGER. 

A FEW years before the Indians left that section of 
country included within Northern Alabama, and 
before the mansion of Forestfield was erected, 
there occurred a very distressing episode in John Gran- 
ville’s family from which it never entirely recovered. 

Before leaving Virginia for the Mississippi territory, 
Richard Granville, the only child of John Granville, was 
happily married to an excellent young woman by the name 
of Jane Trent, and immediately started with his father and 
mother for their new home in the Southwest. But upon 
their arrival they found many savages still in the coun- 
try, who showed considerable hostility toward the 
whites; so much so that measures of protection had to be 
taken by the latter in the erection of blockhouses to which 
they might flee for safety upon the approach of danger. 

During this hostility of the savages the alarm was given 
one night that they were upon the war-path, and that the 
women and children should be conveyed to the fort with all 
haste. In response to this warning the Granville family, 
including the slaves, arose at midnight and started for the 
nearest blockhouse. When they had advanced a short dis- 
tance upon the road, Jane, the wife of Richard Granville, 
having forgotten her jewels, returned to the house with her 
husband to secure them. And as the company was yet so 
near the house, though out of sight, no one apprehended 
any danger to the couple. But before they had time to 


22 FORESTFIELD 

leave the house the savages surrounded it and captured 
them both. All this was done so quickly and stealthily 
that the rest of the company did not suspect any harm 
until the missing ones failed to return in a reasonable 
time. Upon some one returning to the house in search of 
the missing ones, they could not be found, while many evi- 
dences about the premises showed that the savages had been 
there, and in all probability had captured the unfortunate 
persons and carried them off. Giving up all hope of discov- 
ering the missing ones that night the searchers returned to 
the company, which resumed its mournful march toward 
the blockhouse. But one of the saddest features of the 
case was that the captive father and mother left behind 
them a little daughter of about two years of age, who bore 
her mother’s full name, Jane Trent. 

This sad episode always hung as a cloud upon the horizon 
of the life of Jane Trent Pemrose and subdued to a degree 
its otherwise cheerful light. And while she was not capa- 
ble of appreciating its meaning nor of suffering fully its 
deprivation at the time it occurred, she soon came to realize 
that there was something abnormal in her family history. 
This was the skeleton behind the door at Forestfield for 
many years. 

Subsequently, and just before the tribe of Cherokee In- 
dians departed for their home in the West, the head of a 
certain family came to the home of John Granville- and re- 
quested permission to bring the bones of one of his people 
who had been buried a number of years elsewhere and rein- 
ter them upon his land. He said that he did not wish to 
leave the bones in the depths of the forest exposed to the 
ravages of wild beasts, and perchance to the desecration of 
the plowshare of the pioneer. 

John Granville, who was a man of much sympathy, 
granted the request of the old Indian, despite the cruel 


FOKESTFIELD 


23 


manner in which the savages had treated him in carrying 
off his son and daughter-in-law into hopeless captivity. So 
the bones of the poor Indian, with a few trinkets once 
belonging to the living, were deposited not far from John 
Granville’s cabin. And after obtaining the promise of the 
good man to care for the lone grave, the old Indian de- 
parted for his new and distant home. 

But the question which puzzled John Granville most was 
why the old savage requested the interment of this particu- 
lar person upon a white man’s land, when in all proba- 
bility he then had others of his family buried within dif- 
ferent parts of the forest. 

In the course of time, and as the plantation was im- 
proved, the lone grave became enclosed in the garden plot 
of Forestfield, where it received almost as much attention 
as if it had been the resting-place of one of the household. 
The old Indian himself, the friend of the dead, before his 
departure for the West, had heaped a quantity of stones 
upon the mound to guard against its total obliteration. 
And the Granville family, as well as their successors, took 
delight in planting vines and flowers about the spot to keep 
it green and fresh. And whenever strangers would visit 
the place the children would eagerly lead them into the 
garden and show them the ^^grave of the old Indian.” 

Just beyond the garden fence, as I have already said, lay 
the family burying-ground, where many of the members 
of the household (both whites and slaves) had been laid to 
rest in the years gone by, and into whose silent midst had 
been received a few of their deceased neighbors ; but within 
fhe garden itself lay the old Indian grave, as the genesis of 
death and burial within the history of Forestfield. 

One day, when Jabez Johnson — an old man who made 
his home at Forestfield for the odd jobs he would do — was 
planting some vegetables in the garden, and Elizabeth was 


24 


FOEESTFIELD 


working with some flowers near by, the two fell into conver- 
sation about the old Indian grave. 

Jabez Johnson was rather a peculiar character, and a 
kind of waggish philosopher whose waggery was endured 
for the sake of its good sense. He was also a confirmed 
bachelor of about sixty years, and having no home of his 
own was content to make his home with other people wher- 
ever they treated him kindly and allowed him to stay and to 
do as he pleased. As he expressed it himself : ^^I’m bound to 
live by myself, if I have to live with somebody else.” But 
one of the chief eccentricities of Jabez was to ask abrupt 
questions and then to comment on the answer in his own 
peculiar way. All in all, he was a type of character with 
which most neighborhoods in the South were infested prior 
to the civil war. They might have been called agreeable 
nuisances or helpful parasites. They were represented by 
both sexes, and in their fatherly and motherly propensities, 
unrequited by children of their own, they found their affin- 
ities in the offspring of others. 

^‘Whut do you think of that Injun grave down thar in 
the gward’n, ^Liz’beth?” asked Mr. Johnson, in a quizzical 
tone. 

think a great deal of it. Uncle Jabez,” replied the 
young lady. “Why do you ask the question?” 

“Because I know’d you thought a great deal of it, an’ 
I wanted to know why you did. I don’t think much of it 
myself,” he volunteered; “and if I was in your -maw’s 
place I’d have it moved outside the gward’n. Whut does 
she want a old Injun squaw lyin’ round here fur?” 

“She certainly can’t do us any harm. Uncle Jabez,” 
pleaded Elizabeth. 

“Yes, but she kin,” rejoined the old man; “she mought 
ha’nt us some night fur takin’ this country from her folks. 
An’ I wouldn’t blame her ef she did jump up some night 


FOEESTFIELD 


25 


an’ skeer ns mighty nigh out’n onr senses. I never did 
b’lieve it wuz right/’ he went on, ^^to take this country 
frum the Injuns, nohow.” 

^^Well, if you think that way. Uncle Jabez,” argued Eliz- 
abeth, ^^certainly you should be willing for their dead to 
have a resting-place in their own country.” 

“Yes, but thar’s a mystery ’bout that grave,” said J ahez, 
as he tried to evade the argument of his fair opponent. 
“They say ’tain’t no Injun grave nohow — hit’s white folks.” 

“If that’s true,” replied Elizabeth, “its a strange thing 
that Indians would be so careful about burying a white 
person.” 

“Well, it might ’a’ been a white person that tuck up with 
’em, fur the Injuns liked sich folks mighty well, you 
know.” 

“Do you really believe. Uncle Jabez, that the body in that 
grave is that of a white person ?” asked Elizabeth, becoming 
a little interested in the theory. 

“I can’t exactly say that,” replied the old man ; ‘^Dut I’ve 
got a mighty good reason fur thinkin’ so. Ef you’ll listen. 
I’ll tell you whut I’ve heerd about it.” 

“I’d be delighted to hear it,” said the young lady, as 
she took a eeat upon a large stone at the corner of the 
flower bed. 

“Well,” said Jabez, as he seated himself on the wheel- 
barrow standing in the walk, “I heerd that about forty year 
ago the Injuns come one night an’ tuck a white man an’ 
his wife off with ’em, and that a few years afterwards that 
same woman was seed among the Injuns and dressed jes’ 
like ’em. But the man wuz never seed any more. I didn’t 
know nothin’ ’bout it myself; I wuz jes’ a chunk of a boy. 
But my maw wuz livin’ then, an’ she said that she know’d 
the woman, but she couldn’t recollect her name. She said 
she had mighty long, black hair an’ black eyes, like your 


26 


FORESTFIELD 


maw, an^ that the Injuns thought a power of her. But 
arterwhile the woman wuzn’t seed no more, an’ they all 
thought that she’d went off with some of the Injuns to the 
West. I tell you, my daughter, thar’s some mighty strange 
things happens in this here world. An’ who knows but 
whut that woman wuz buried right in this gward’n?” 

At this juncture Elizabeth heard her mother calling her, 
and she arose and started toward the house. But turning 
and looking back she remarked : “Your theory may be cor- 
rect, Mr. Johnson, but I shall never believe it until I see 
that grave opened and an examination made.” 

As soon as Elizabeth left the garden Jabez Johnson got 
up and walked down toward the grave, which was at the 
back of the garden, talking to himself as he went. It was 
his habit to repeat conversations to himself that he might 
not forget them. And when he had reached the grave he 
stood near it with hat in hand and delivered the following 
soliloquy: “Pore woman! Injun or white folks, I don’t 
know. But you kin stay here in your grave twell the rus- 
urrection, as fur as I keer. You mought er had a hard time 
in this world, and you ought to rest. I wuz jest er jokin’ 
when I said you ought to be moved out’n the gward’n. 
Like old J ebez J ohnson, you hain’t got no land of your own, 
and you have to rest somewhere. Ef you be white folks, 
you’re in a good place; an’ ef you be Injun, you’re in a 
good place, fur there ain’t no difference between white folks 
an’ Injuns in the grave.” 

At the close of this soliloquy the old man gathered a few 
jonquils, for it was early spring, and laid them on the heap 
of stones, and putting on his hat, turned and walked away. 

About this time the old-fashioned garden became as the 
sanctuary of God. The rays of the setting sun flooded its 
avenues as with the glory of heaven; the soft breezes of 
spring breathed upon its tender foliage, as it were, a balm 


FORESTFIELD 


27 


from the skies ; and the songs of the birds became like nnto 
the choir invisible. But the holiest thing in the garden was 
the heart of an old man who was willing to let a poor old 
Indian squaw rest in her grave in peace, and who would 
fain drop a flower upon the humble mound. 


rOEESTFIELD 


38 


CHAPTER IV. 

FOR WEALTH OR WORTH? 

T he day after Elizabeth and Jabez Johnson had the 
debate in the garden about the old Indian grave 
the former held a spirited controversy with a 
young gentleman upon a subject of quite a different nature. 
It referred not to deaths but to life, and the spirit of it was 
joy rather than sorrow. It was the old, old story of love. 

This controversy took place within the old summer-house 
in the midst of the garden, the forum within which many a 
polemic of similar issues had been conducted, and perhaps 
the arena upon which many a defeat had been suffered. 
This spot was such a charming precinct for the making of 
love that its patronage was not confined to the knights and 
ladies of the mansion of Forestfield, but all the nymphs and 
swains of the neighborhood would avail themselves of its 
adaptation whenever they could. Isolated and retired by 
its location, ornamented by clambering vines and clustering 
blossoms and hallowed by the presence of Cupid, who had 
so often peeped through the lattice and shot his keen ar- 
rows, barbed with sweetness, at every susceptible heart 
which might frequent the famous spot, it could not but 
attract all the devotees of love who came within reach of 
its charms. 

Early in the afternoon upon the day referred to Mr. 
Joseph McCree called to see Elizabeth without notice, re- 
questing the pleasure of taking her driving in his new two- 
horse buggy. Mr. McCree was a young man of the neigh- 


FORESTFIELD 


29 


borhood with whom Elizabeth had been acquainted for 
some time, and whose greatest fault was his egotistical 
wealth. And I might say whose chief attraction — to some 
— ^was his greatest fault. He had inherited a large fortune 
consisting of ample lands, many slaves, and money in pro- 
portion, from a deceased uncle. It is true that he had 
some good personal qualities, but they were rather neutral- 
ized by his overconsciousness of his great wealth. 

Of course the call without notice was not strictly eti- 
quette, but Elizabeth overlooked it on the ground that she 
and her visitor were familiar acquaintances and should not 
be extremely formal. And as there was nothing to inter- 
fere she gratefully accepted the drive, and the couple were 
soon spinning along the road in Mr. McCree’s new turnout. 
As the eager driver was as good a judge of a horse as he 
was of feminine charms there was no disappointment in 
the manner of their going. 

^This is delightful,” remarked Elizabeth, as the two 
bays stepped proudly on at their master’s word, and the 
wheels appeared as if they had no spokes. 

^^Yes, the finest span of horses in the country. Miss Liz- 
zie,” replied McCree, with more vanity than appreciation. 
^They cost me four hundred dollars in Kentucky.” 

^‘Ah? They should be fine, then, at that price,” re- 
sponded the young lady, falling into the spirit of her escort 
under protest. 

^^And the buggy cost me a hundred and fifty dollars, 
without the harness,” he volunteered again, as he urged 
the team to greater speed. 

‘^And what did the driver cost you, Mr. McCree ?” asked 
Elizabeth, in a covert rebuke. For she did not relish the 
disposition made of her expression of appreciation by her 
escort. 

''Well,” he stammered, ^T’ll leave the value of the driver 


30 


FORESTFIELD 


to be estimated by yourself/' And he laughed heartily at 
his shrewdness in taking advantage of the innocent banter. 

^‘I'd rather not travel so fast, Mr. McCree,” pleaded 
Elizabeth, as she ignored his question; ‘^for the horses 
might run away with us." 

^‘Oh, no ; I can control them," he replied. ^^But for your 
pleasure. Miss Lizzie, I'll check them down." And the 
horses relaxed into a more moderate gait. 

Having driven as far as they wished to go the horses’ 
heads were turned homeward, and soon the couple alighted 
at the gate of Forestfield, when Elizabeth thanked Mr. 
McCree for his kindness and invited him into the house. 
And as the subsequent conversation turned upon the sub- 
ject of flowers, which is frequently the case when one of the 
parties is in love, the couple agreed to stroll into the garden 
and gather a nosegay. But to arrive at the desired point 
quickly I will state that the strollers soon found themselves 
seated within the summer-house, with at least one of the 
parties under the inspiration of the locality. When every- 
thing seemed to be opportune, Mr. McCree remarked : 

‘‘I have something to show you. Miss Lizzie.” And he 
drew from his pocket a neat little box containing a beau- 
tiful and elegant lady’s gold watch and chain. 

Taking the watch in her hand at her visitor’s request, 
Elizabeth remarked, “How beautiful! I suppose this is 
for your betrothed." 

“ Oh, no,” he replied ; “I have no betrothed. It is for her 
whom I wish to become my betrothed. Can’t you guess 
who that is?" 

“Ho," she answered. “That would be a hard task, I sup- 
pose." 

“It’s very easy if you will only think. Miss Lizzie." 

“But I didn’t know that you were in love, Mr. McCree; 
and how could I guess the object of your love?" 


FORESTFIELD 


31 


‘'■’Well, would you like me to tell you who it is?” asked 
the sanguine young man, who had already betrayed his 
feelings toward his companion. 

^‘No, I shall not require you to reveal your love matters,” 
was the careless reply. 

^‘But I believe I’ll tell you anyhow,” he eagerly vol- 
unteered. 

course if you will insist upon telling me I can’t 
refuse to listen,” she replied. 

This so encouraged him that he blurted out without hes- 
itation : ^‘You are the one. Miss Lizzie, whom I wish to be- 
come my betrothed, and that watch is for you.” 

^Tmpossible, Mr. McCree!” exclaimed Elizabeth, who 
could not restrain her resentment as well as surprise at the 
declaration. 

Understanding the term impossible to apply to the gift 
of the watch rather than to the betrothal, the sanguine 
suitor responded ; ^Tmpossible, you say ! I’d be willing to 
give half a dozen such watches as that if you would become 
my betrothed. I bought that watch purposely for you. Miss 
Lizzie, and I want you to have it.” 

cannot accept the watch, Mr. McCree, under any 
circumstances,” she remarked very candidly. ^^While I ap- 
preciate your generosity, you must excuse me for refusing 
your offer.” 

‘T’m surprised that anybody would refuse to accept a 
hundred-dollar watch,” he protested, still unable to appre- 
ciate the principle involved. 

^‘But you are under no obligations to me, Mr. McCree, 
and you should not think of such a thing.” 

^^Well, if you won’t take the watch I suppose I can find 
some one who will,” was the philosophical conclusion. 

trust you are not offended,” pleaded Elizabeth, as she 
returned the watch to the young man. 


32 


FOEESTFIELD 


no; I’m not offended; I’m only sorry that you do 
not know a bargain when you see it, Miss Lizzie.” 

Elizabeth hardly knew what reply to make to this, so 
for some time she was silent. But to relieve the embar- 
rassment which had settled upon them both she at last 
remarked: ^^Let us return to the house, Mr. McCree, and 
place our flowers in water ; they are about to wither.” 

The sanguine but disappointed suitor consented, and they 
returned to the house. Soon after he got into his buggy and 
rolled away. But Elizabeth gave him a cordial departure, 
as she made due allowance for the effect of sudden wealth 
in deluding a young man into the idea that he could pur- 
chase a wife with nothing but gold. 

The following day, remarkable as it may appear, William 
Holcombe, another young man of the neighborhood, who 
had fallen in love with Elizabeth Pemrose before she had 
reached her teens, but who had never addressed her upon 
the subject of marriage, came to Fbrestfield for the sole 
purpose of laying his homage and affections at her feet. 
But when one considers the attractiveness of the object one 
should not be surprised that Elizabeth had two earnest 
suitors within two days, for rival suitors rarely wait on 
the movements of one another when such a prize is at 
stake. 

It was a beautiful afternoon in May ; and if one season is 
better than another in which to make love, this was an ideal 
opportunity. Tender blue skies, balmy breezes laden 
with the fragrance of early flowers, the fresh, green grass, 
the singing of birds, the flitting of butterflies, and an 
unwonted quietude of nature resting under the benediction 
of genial sunshine, all combined to inspire the heart of 
youth with the ecstatic hope of entering some day that land 
of love which is fairer and sweeter than the natural world 
has ever furnished. 


FORESTFIELD 


33 


When William Holcombe arrived at Forestfield, not un- 
expectedly, he found Elizabeth sitting upon a rustic seat 
within the grove near the lawn gate, with a book in her 
hand. Anticipating his coming, and perhaps surmising the 
nature of his errand, she had determined to give him an ad- 
vance welcome a little beyond the conventional parlor door. 
Not in the spirit of forwardness did she go, but in the 
spirit of politeness, excited and urged, perhaps, by a nobler 
motive of which she was not ashamed. And as she sat, 
dividing the glances of her pretty blue eyes between the 
pages of her book and a section of the road, her mind also 
was divided between the subject she half perused and her 
expected visitor. And just then a bright sunbeam darted 
through the young leaves overhead and kissed her glowing 
cheek, and a gentle breeze, in search of something exquisite 
with which to dally, came along and lightly) lifted the rich 
brown locks from her fair forehead and gave her another 
kiss in loving rivalry. 

At last there was the sound of a horse’s hoofs, the hand- 
some figure of a horseman appeared upon the road, and 
William Holcombe leaned from his saddle, opened the gate, 
rode in and dismounted. In the mean time a book was sud- 
denly closed, the fair reader arose and advanced toward 
the gate, and extending her hand with a genial smile 
Elizabeth welcomed her prospective suitor. 

^^If agreeable to you, Mr. Holcombe,” she said, H would 
suggest that you tie your horse to the fence, and that we 
take seats on yonder bench and enjoy the pleasures of the 
woods for awhile. I’m always glad to get out of doors in 
the springtime,” she added, ^‘after having been housed 
up all winter. It is a great relief.” 

“It will be agreeable to me. Miss Elizabeth,” replied the 
young man, “if for no other reason than it is your pleas- 
ure.” And having secured his horse to the fence, he re- 


34 


FORESTFIELD 


turned to the young lady’s side and escorted her to the 
bench from which she had come to welcome him. 

After a few preliminary remarks anent the weather and 
the news of the neighborhood, the conversation turned 
gradually into the channel that eventually led into the 
midst of a genuine heart-to-heart talk. True love is so 
very sincere and timid that it is never overbold nor ab- 
rupt. It appears as the morning light and departs as the 
light at eventide. So, at this juncture, which lay about 
ten minutes from the meeting of the couple, Mr. Holcombe, 
in a rather matter-of-fact way, remarked : 

have something on my mind. Miss Elizabeth, which I 
have been wishing to tell you for some time, and I think 
this is the proper time to tell you. What do you think 
about it?” 

really can’t say,” replied Elizabeth, ^^as I do not know 
what is on your mind. If I knew what you wish to tell 
me,” she added, with a twinkle of mischief in her eye, 
probably I could say whether it is opportune.” 

The rather problematic remark made by the young man 
and the rather sarcastic reply made by the young lady 
confused the former so much that he had to clear his 
throat and begin again. And while lashing the grass with 
his riding-whip and gazing upon the ground, he endeav- 
ored to recover himself by the remark; 

did not mean to say that you knew what I wished to 
tell you, but it seems to me you might have guessed it.” 

^‘Well, but I’m neither a mindreader nor a good 
guesser,” she replied, in a tantalizing tone, as she pulled a 
small flower to pieces. 

^‘Then if you don’t know it and can’t guess it I believe 
I will tell you,” ventured the suitor, with an affected bold- 
ness. ‘‘That is, if you have no objection.” 

“But how could I object to anything about which I know 


FOEESTFIELD 


35 


nothing was the stunning interrogative reply. And once 
more the timid suitor recoiled before the skilful defense of 
his sweetheart. 

“But, Miss Elizabeth, I thought you had suspected — that 
— I thought a great deal of you. And I’m sure that I have 
manifested my feelings in many ways. And yet you seem 
to be unconscious of it all.” This was said in such a delib- 
erate and sincere way that the innocent humor of Elizabeth 
was transformed into a seriousness which threw the em- 
barrassment upon her, from which she must now extricate 
herself. 

“Why, Mr. Holcombe, you must be mistaken. I think I 
have always appreciated your kindness toward me. And if 
I had known that my ingratitude was burdening your 
mind, I should have begged your pardon long ago.” 

“But you misunderstand me,” he replied. “I do not ac- 
cuse you of ingratitude, nor do I refer to a feeling of mere 
kindness on my part toward you. I mean a great deal more 
than that.” 

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” she replied with 
hesitation, showing that she now suspected the course the 
conversation was about to take. 

“Then shall I take the privilege of explaining what I 
do mean, and tell you frankly what is on my mind?” he 
asked, with more confidence. 

“Of course. Every one should be allowed to explain him- 
self.” 

“Well, then, I wish to say that I have not only enter- 
tained kindly feelings toward you,” he explained, still cut- 
ting grass with his whip, “but my feelings have developed 
into real affection, if I may be so bold as to say so. And 
you are the only one toward whom I have ever entertained 
such feelings — that is, in a certain peculiar sense. It is 
true that I have had high regard for other young ladies. 


36 


FOKESTFIELD 


but nothing more. But for you my heart has long been 
filled with pure affection. And although you may not ap- 
preciate it, I cannot refrain longer from telling you of it. 
But I trust that my bold confession will not offend you.’’ 

‘^Of course, Mr. Holcombe, I shall not become offended 
at what you say, but I am sorry that you have so little confi- 
dence in my capacity for appreciation.” As this again dis- 
covered the want of tact in the suitor, he was thrown back 
upon another explanation. 

‘‘But you seem hard to understand. Miss Elizabeth,” he 
replied with an affectionate irritation. “I beg your pardon ; 
1 did not mean that you had no appreciation, but that, 
as I am so unworthy, you might not appreciate what I feel 
and say.” 

“I fear you have made matters worse, Mr. Holcombe, by 
saying that I am dull of understanding,” was the crushing 
reply; “for that is little better than the lack of apprecia- 
tion. But I will forgive you for it this time.” 

“You are just teasing me. Miss Elizabeth,” protested the 
suitor, with a faint smile. “You know I did not mean to 
say that you are dull of understanding. But if you will 
allow me I will tell you plainly what I did mean.” 

“That is just what I wish to know,” declared Elizabeth 
in a tone of triumph. 

Availing himself of this favorable opportunity, our sin- 
cere but timid suitor succeeded in making the following 
deliberate declaration : 

“I have been in love with you. Miss Elizabeth, ever since 
you were a schoolgirl, and as the time has passed, bringing 
you toward womanhood, my love for you has increased. 
You were my first love, and my only love, and no one has 
ever diverted my affections from you for a single moment. 
Nor is my love for you merely visionary, but it is inspired 
by that which is the most worthy. The beauty of your per- 


FORESTFIELD 


37 


son, the intelligence of your mind, and the loveliness of 
your character and disposition have all conspired to attract 
me toward you. And I feel that if I should fail to realize 
my hopes in regard to you I shall be of all men most mis- 
erable.’^ 

While Mr. Holcombe was making his declaration Eliza- 
beth was carelessly writing with a stick upon the back of 
the bench upon which they sat, and intently gazing at the 
irregular lines she was drawing. Feeling that he meant 
every word he said, she could not endure his ardent and sin- 
cere gaze. Nor could she resist the approach of a delicate 
blush that crept over her cheek nor the throb of her heart 
in response to his burning words. And being overcome by 
the purest emotions, she could only reply with tremulous 
voice : 

‘‘I do not feel that I deserve what you have said, Mr. 
Holcombe; yet I thank you for the high compliment you 
have paid me.” 

Being encouraged by this sincere response to his declara- 
tion of love, our suitor proceeded to follow up the supposed 
advantage and continued: 

‘‘Now, Miss Elizabeth, it remains for me to show my sin- 
cerity by asking you a question which I have never asked 
any one else. And I trust that you will not doubt my sin- 
cerity so much as to refuse to answer it. If the answer 
should be ‘no,’ I shall try to be resigned to my fate; but if 
the answer should be ‘yes,’ I shall be supremely happy.” 
And as he went on with a coolness that surprised himself 
his sweetheart cast her lovely eyes upon the ground and lis- 
tened as before. 

“Of course I do not feel myself worthy to ask you such a 
question, and much less worthy to receive an affirmative 
answer; nevertheless, I can refrain no longer from seeking 
a decision one way or the other. So I wish to ask you if 


38 


FORESTFIELD 


you are willing, after hearing my declaration of love for 
you, are you willing to become my wife?’’ 

At this rather sudden arrival of the crisis they both be- 
came so agitated that it resulted in absolute silence for 
some time; and as Mr. Holcombe sat looking anxiously at 
his sweetheart, expecting a response of some kind, Eliza- 
beth, who had never raised her eyes from the ground, 
sat and turned the ring upon her finger and said 
nothing. 

After waiting until the silence became almost painful, 
Mr. Holcombe, whose anxiety had still increased, was the 
first to speak, when he propounded a second question and 
sent it in search of the first: ^‘Will you not answer my 
question. Miss Elizabeth, in any form?” 

Raising her eyes to meet those of her suitor she replied in 
a very deliberate manner : 

‘^While I believe you to be perfectly sincere in what you 
say, Mr. Holcombe, I hope you will excuse me from an- 
swering your question just now, as I feel that the circum- 
stances are not favorable to a candid reply. There are 
so many things to consider in connection with the subject 
of marriage I think one should have ample time to think 
about it. Besides, I do not think that I am worthy of the 
relation which you ask me to assume.” 

Though our suitor had not received the answer he most 
devoutly wished, he had received the next best — a neutral 
one, and one which he thought pointed rather toward the 
affirmative than the negative. So with a concealed eager- 
ness he continued to prosecute his suit. 

‘T thank you for your confidence in me. Miss Elizabeth,” 
said he, in an elated tone, ^‘and I suppose I shall have 
to excuse you from answering my question now. Per- 
haps it is wisest to postpone your answer until some other 
time, although it will leave me in a state of great suspense. 


FORESTFIELD 39 

But can’t you fix some definite time at which you will give 
me an answer?’’ 

“I shall have to consult my mother about it first, and 
then I shall be ready to give you an answer.” 

^^ell, can’t you consult your mother to-morrow after- 
noon about this time?” he asked, as both recovered their 
composure. 

“I could do it, if you are in a great hurry and can’t wait 
longer,” she replied with a smile, for the spirit of humor 
was returning. And to our suitor this was an omen for 
good, and he ventured to smile in response to his sweetheart. 

must confess. Miss Elizabeth, that I am in a hurry; 
but I might wait until to-morrow afternoon if I have to.” 

“Perhaps when you have received your answer you will 
wish you had waited longer,” said Elizabeth in a teasing 
way. 

Mr. Holcombe accepted this as another good omen, 
though he could not tell why, and replied, “I am willing 
to risk it.” 

“I should like to take a ride on your fine horse, Mr. Hol- 
combe,” remarked the young lady, changing the subject 
abruptly, “if I am not asking too much.” 

“I’ll answer that to-morrow afternoon, if you can wait 
so long,” replied the young man, in the spirit of innocent 
retaliation. 

“Oh, well, need not retaliate,” she rejoined; “and 
especially while your cause hangs in the balance.” 

“Well, then, you shall ride Selim,” he answered quicldy, 
“if I have to go to the house and bring down your saddle 
myself.” 

“That will be unnecessary. I see Jim at the gate. I will 
call him and have him bring down my saddle and Fleetfoot, 
too. It wouldn’t do to make you walk, or remain here, 
while I ride your horse.” 


40 


FOEESTFIELD 


Jim, a negro servant, was called and given directions, and 
soon returned with the horse and saddle. The saddles were 
exchanged, and Mr. Holcombe assisted Elizabeth upon his 
horse, then mounted her horse, and they passed through the 
gate and cantered down the road at a lively speed. 

When they returned, about sunset, our faithful suitor 
exchanged steeds with his sweetheart and bade her good-by, 
with her permission to call again the following’ afternoon to 
receive — ^perhaps — an answer to that momentous question. 


FORESTFIELD 


41 


CHAPTER V. 

A SINCERE BETROTHAL. 

O N the day following the incidents recorded in the 
preceding chapter, about the middle of the after- 
noon, Mrs. Pemrose was passing the summer- 
house in the garden, and hearing some one reading aloud 
within stopped to ascertain who it was. Upon entering 
she discovered Elizabeth reading a series of missives which 
she had received from time to time from Mr. Holcombe. 

When Mrs. Pemrose found her daughter in this loving 
plight, the latter did not retreat in confusion, as might 
have been expected ; for between Cousin J ane and Elizabeth 
there existed that unembarrassed confidence between mother 
and daughter which is always so wholesome and beautiful. 
Elizabeth never received a letter that her mother was not 
permitted to read if she chose to do so. Nor did she corre- 
spond with any one without her mother’s permission. 

“You must be in love, my daughter,” remarked Mrs. 
Pemrose as she took her seat, “judging by the number of 
love-letters you have here.” 

“Do you suppose that I would be so foolish as to fall in 
love, mother?” asked the daughter in an evasive way. 

“Oh, yes,” replied Mrs. Pemrose, in an encouraging tone ; 
“though I do not consider it at all foolish, as it is natural 
for young girls to fall in love.” 

“I will not admit that I’m in love, mother,” responded 
Elizabeth, in the way of defense; “unless I confess that 
I’m in love with you.” 


42 


FORESTFIELD 


need not undertake to explain further/’ replied the 
mother. understand. You are at least enjoying the 
presence of some friend in his absence by reading over what 
he has written. But you must excuse me, Elizabeth, as I 
did not intend to interrupt you. I must go and attend to 
the flowers growing about the Indian grave.” 

‘^Oh, no, mother; wait awhile,” insisted Elizabeth. “I 
have something very important to tell you.” And taking 
her mother by the hand she led her hack to her seat. 
wish to tell you that I am expecting Mr. William Holcombe 
to come over this afternoon, and would like for you to be 
present when he arrives. We wish to tell you something, 
and then ask your advice about it. It is nearly time for 
him to come now.” 

‘^Of course I shall be glad to hear what you have to say, 
and shall try to advise you for the best,” replied Mrs. 
Pemrose, as she suspected the matter under consideration. 

“Oh, mother, I forgot!” exclaimed the daughter, excit- 
edly; “I shall have to ask you a question myself before 
Mr. Holcombe arrives or we shall not be ready to ask our 
question together.” 

“Well, ask it, and I will answer it the best I can,” said 
her mother in a careless way; “though I believe I can guess 
what your question will be.” 

“All right; I should like to have you guess it, for it 
might save me some embarrassment.” 

“Ho; I shall not anticipate you,” replied the mother; 
“just go on with your question.” 

“Well,” said Elizabeth, with some hesitation, “Mr. Hol- 
combe has asked me to become his wife, and I told him that 
I could not answer him until I had consulted you. I didn’t 
feel that it was proper for me to decide such an important 
matter without your advice.” 

“You are right, my daughter,” replied Mrs. Pemrose; “a 


FORESTFIELD 


43 


young girl should never take such a step without advice 
from some competent and interested person; and no one 
could be more fit than a mother to give such advice. I am 
glad that you were so prudent/’ 

“Well, what shall I tell him?” asked Elizabeth in an 
eager tone, as she rose to her feet and stood facing her 
mother. 

“That depends upon your feelings toward Mr. Hol- 
combe,” answered Mrs. Pemrose. “If you feel that you can 
respect and love him as a husband and have decided to 
enter the marriage state, you should answer ^yes but if you 
feel that you cannot respect and love him, you should an- 
swer ‘no.’ But I think Mr. Holcombe is an excellent Chris- 
tian gentleman, and is fully worthy of your love and con- 
fidence. Besides, his family is one of the best in the neigh- 
borhood.” 

“Thank you, mother,” replied the daughter. “I agree 
with you in all you say. Mr. Holcombe is, indeed, an ex- 
cellent man, I think. Do you advise me to accept his pro- 
posal?” The latter question was asked with so much sim- 
plicity and confidence that its sincerity could not havQ been 
mistaken. And it was not strange that the mother an- 
swered in the affirmative and in the same spirit. 

“I do, with all my heart,” was the prompt reply. 

At this juncture Martha, the housemaid, approached the 
summer-house and said that Mr. William Holcombe was in 
the parlor and wished to see Miss Elizabeth. 

“Ask him into the garden, Martha,” said the young 
lady ; “he’s no stranger, and he has been in here before.” 

In a few minutes Elizabeth, who had left her mother and 
had gone as far as the garden gate to greet her suitor and to 
inform him of her decision, returned to the summer-house 
leaning upon his arm. And after the usual courtesies had 
passed between the young man and Mrs. Pemrose they all 


44 


FORESTFIELD 


entered and took seats. The decision, though in the affirm- 
ative, was not at all dramatic at the garden gate, as that 
phase of the courtship had passed the day before at the 
lawn gate. Suffice it to say that when William Holcombe 
approached Mrs. Pemrose his face was radiant with satis- 
faction and that a similar light beamed from the counte- 
nance of Elizabeth. 

After a brief conversation upon common themes had been 
indulged, the ^^previous question,’^ as parliamentarians say, 
was called. But Elizabeth did not call it, for all the un- 
embarrassed confidence she had in her mother now failed 
her in the presence of her suitor. It was Mr. Holcombe 
who broke the ice, plunged in and brought the question to 
the surface. And suddenly penetrating a pause in the con- 
versation he began : 

“Mrs. Pemrose, Miss Elizabeth and myself have reached 
an agreement, and want your opinion and advice in the 
matter.” As this was said the young lady looked downward 
in modesty and began to turn the ring upon her finger, 
while a faint blush came upon her cheek. 

“I mean,” continued the suitor, “that we have formed a 
mutual copartnership for life, and wish to know if you 
will endorse for us.” But not being satisfied to assume the 
whole responsibility in the premises, he glanced at his be- 
trothed and added: “Isn’t that about it. Miss Elizabeth?” 

“Yes; I believe it is,” she answered as she looked up. 

'WT’ell, William,” replied Mrs. Pemrose, “I might as well 
answer you candidly and at once, and not leave you in sus- 
pense. You have my hearty endorsement, and I pray that 
your life-long agreement may prove a harmonious one. 
And to speak plainly and complimentary, if Elizabeth 
proves to be as affectionate and faithful to you as a wife as 
she has been to me as a daughter, I shall not fear the con- 
sequences.” 


FORESTFIELD 45 

With much feeling, as shown by a tremulous voice, Mr. 
Holcombe merely replied : ^^Thank you, madam.^' 

Elizabeth bowed her head upon her hand and wept tears 
of mingled pride and affection. And Mrs. Pemrose, wish- 
ing to relieve the severe but happy tension, turned a playful 
sentence and remarked : 

^^When I suspected that something of this kind was bear- 
ing upon Elizabeth’s mind and questioned her about it, she 
would not admit that she was engaged, but merely said that 
she hoped to be some day, upon my consent. Now that she 
has my consent I suppose she is engaged.” 

They all laughed, as an agreeable way of relief, and the 
equilibrium was restored. But Cousin Jane, who was a 
very devout person and a strong believer in prayer, sug- 
gested that they kneel down and ask the blessing of God 
upon the betrothal. And with a hand upon the head of 
each of the happy pair as they knelt side by side^ she offered 
a fervent petition that the decision and agreement made 
that day might redound to both the temporal and eternal 
welfare of all concerned. 

As the three rose from their knees the housemaid ap- 
peared with a message from the cook that Elizabeth come 
and ^^give out” supper. But Mrs. Pemrose, proposing to 
go in her daughter’s stead, departed for the house, leaving 
the young folks to themselves in the fulness of their joy. 

Soon the sun had set, the twilight came down, the moon 
came up, and the stars came out. And as a bird from the 
magnolia tree sang a few sweet notes as a melodious rec- 
ognition of the glad transaction the happy pair strolled 
slowly along the garden walk toward the gate. And as an 
emphasis to the consummation of the engagement, Mr. Hol- 
combe drew from his pocket a plain gold ring, took the left 
hand of his betrothed and placed the ring upon the third 
finger, and gently lifting the hand to his lips sealed it with 


46 


FOEESTFIELD 


a kiss. Elizabeth, fully appreciating the significance of 
the gallant act of her lover, turned her sweet face upward 
toward his, and with her hand resting confidingly in that 
of her betrothed, said, with the emotion of affectionate 
gratitude: “Thank you; you are very kind.” 

Eecovering from their blissful reverie the lovers realized 
that the night had come, when Elizabeth said, in a 
suggestive way: “Let us hurry on, for we should not spoil 
this happy occasion by becoming forgetful of the rules of 
decorum and remain out too late.” And with a quickened 
step they soon reached the house. 

Mr. Holcombe was prevailed upon to remain until after 
supper to partake of “x\unt” Caroline’s delicious rolls and 
batter-cakes, with milk and butter from the inpring-house, 
and chocolate-brown coffee. After which Eliz.ibeth sang a 
few songs, such as “Juanita,” “Lorena,” “Old Folks at 
Home,” and “The Last Eose of Summer,” accompanied by 
the guitar. Then Mr. Holcombe arose, bade his betrothed 
and her mother good-night, mounted his horse and rode 
away. 

What shall I say about the feelings of the happy suitor 
as he rode through the forest that night, with his thoughts 
and affections lingering about the mansion of Forestfield? 
I shall say nothing, lest I become a fool for my pains. 

‘‘There comes a day when love that lies asleep 
Wakes on our sight. There do we stay awhile; 

But soon again we trim our sails to seek the open main. 
And now, whatever winds and waves betide, 

Two friendly ships are sailing side by side.*’ 

Elizabeth Pemrose, according to her antecedents and 
training, had chosen ivorth rather than wealth, when she 
came to decide the most momentous question ever appealed 
to the tribunal of a woman’s mind and heart, save that in- 


FORESTFIELD 


47 


volved in her religious faith. Her ancestors for generations 
had held the marriage vow in so high esteem that she must 
needs have broken over the barriers of heredity to count it 
an unholy thing. She could not barter the pure motive of 
that supreme act of life in which center affection, honor, 
hope and destiny for cankering pelf. But through the 
translucent whiteness of a chaste vision she beheld the de- 
lectable regions of conjugal bliss as they lay beyond the 
marriage altar sanctified by the presence and first miracle 
of the Son of God at Cana of Galilee. Marriage, with her, 
was the consummation into which were gathered the no- 
blest sentiments of the heart as a new basis from which to 
project a higher and a better life. 

William Holcombe, who was born of similar antecedents 
to those of his betrothed, and in a land where respect for 
woman is never affected by poverty or wealth, approached 
the marriage altar with the instincts of a Christian gen- 
tleman, and laid upon it without reservation his most sacred 
honor. With him the standard of feminine innocence stood 
not above the masculine, but to one divine moral law they 
both bowed in unison. And thus, in the days of the Old 
South, at the mansion of Forestfield, were betrothed two 
typical young lives under the bonds of innocence and love; 
a transaction, I fear, that would not be so representative in 
these latter and more degenerate days. 


48 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTER VI. 

.WITH REFERENCE TO A WEDDING. 

T he betrothal of William Holcombe and Elizabeth 
Pemrose in the old-fashioned garden and in the 
presence of the young woman’s mother had respect 
unto an old-fashioned wedding to take place the following 
month, that is to say in June. I say old-fashioned wed- 
ding, because I refer to one which took place more than 
fifty years ago now. And as time moves on by half centu- 
ries, all things shall by and by become old-fashioned. Even 
the manly groom and the lovely bride must in the course of 
events become old and wrinkled and be counted as furni- 
ture of the past. 

The spirit of the entire transaction referred to above 
savored of that which inspired the betrothal of Isaac and 
Rebekah, and was consummated in as natural, simple and 
unembarrassed a manner as the marriage at Cana of Gali- 
lee. And it could hardly have been otherwise when the 
mother had instructed the daughter to consider the estate 
of matrimony as instituted by God, and of so sacred a char- 
acter that it should not be entered into unadvisedly, but 
discreetly and in the fear of God. And especially when 
Mrs. Pemrose had strictly forbidden any one to treat the 
subject in a flippant manner in the presence of her chil- 
dren, or to make the impression on their minds that to yield 
to the rising affections of the heart toward the noble and 
worthy in the opposite sex is puerile and ridiculous. She 
believed that thousands of loving hearts of both sexes have 


FOEESTFIELD 


49 


been simply laughed out of their purest and noblest purpose 
to fulfill the design of Him who endued them with the 
spirit of conjugal affection. 

Elizabeth therefore looked upon her approaching mar- 
riage as a sacred and life-long obligation which involved 
both her earthly and eternal destiny. It was not to her a 
mere novel and frivolous transaction to be entered into at 
the instance of a mere whim ; but she considered it as 
sacred and binding as her church vows which she had al- 
ready assumed. And her betrothed husband had been 
brought up to consider the marriage vow in the same light. 

William Holcombe, who was about twenty-six years of 
age, was a typical Southern Christian gentleman of the 
ante-bellum regime, and a worthy exponent of the chiv- 
alry peculiar to that land and time. He was the eldest son 
of a gentleman of the neighborhood who, though not so 
wealthy as the Pemrose family, was in comfortable circum- 
stances. And while he could not boast of a long line of 
aristocratic and wealthy ancestors, he could congratulate 
himself as coming of an upright and honorable lineage of 
which no one need be ashamed. Admitting a false distinc- 
tion, he might be said to have belonged to the middle class 
between the poor and the rich, without slaves to spoil him 
and without poverty to pinch him. He was not ashamed 
to labor with his own hands, even under the eye of his rich 
and leisure-loving neighbors, but had thereby secured a 
competence and respectability acknowledged by every sensi- 
ble and just person who knew him. 

There were a few gilded and spurious aristocrats who 
affected to sneer at the marriage of the daughter of Forest- 
field to the plebeian, William Holcombe. But Jabez John- 
son said that “he thought that ’Liz’beth done mighty well 
to git William, instid of one of them har ’-brained, sap- 
headed fools that wuz afear’d to sile thar ban’s with work.” 


50 


FOEESTFIELD 


William Holcombe had acquired a fair education, having 
received instruction at La Grange College, within his na- 
tive State, under the presidency of the Rev. Dr. Robert 
Paine, who made the most salutary impressions upon his 
mind and inspired him with the highest and noblest pur- 
poses of life, which, with his native intellect and strong 
common sense, enabled him to enter upon the duties and 
responsibilities of manhood with flattering prospects. 

Despite the great disparity in wealth between the parties 
betrothed, they had ever been congenial spirits in intelli- 
gence, reflnement and taste, and had grown up together, 
as it were, relatives. And before they both went off to col- 
lege, and returned clothed with the conventionalities of 
society, Elizabeth had always addressed William by his 
Christian name, while he returned the familiar compliment. 
But when they had ^^stepped upon the carpet,^’ it was then 
with more deference and etiquette, ^‘Mr. Holcombe^’ and 
‘'Miss Elizabeth.^^ 

The mutual link of association between the two was 
Gladys, the only sister of William Holcombe, and of the 
same age as Elizabeth, and who had led her brother and 
friend hand in hand through the fields, over the hills and 
adown the glades of a halcyon youth. And to her the ap- 
proaching marriage was a consummation very devoutly 
wished, though she herself never seemed disposed to cher- 
ish the divine passion, unless it was in secrecy, where she 
allowed it to burn itself out at the core of her heart with- 
out an audible sigh or an ardent visible blush. And those 
who are inclined to criticise such as negative and cold- 
hearted would prove themselves false and cruel should they 
attack so affectionate a sister and so kind a friend as 
Gladys Holcombe. One is made for love and another for 
friendship, but each has his mission to perform under con- 
science and under God. 


FORESTFIELD 


51 


Gladys Holcombe seemed to be specially fitted for per- 
petual maidenhood. Her affinities were so catholic in their 
adaptation that they could hardly be confined to one person. 
Like the sunshine, she was welcome everywhere and every- 
where she felt at home. We did not look upon her as for- 
feiting anything by remaining single, but as one who in- 
creased her capacity for usefulness by exercising it in many 
ways. A number of young men sighed deeply at different 
times because she was so disposed, but eventually became 
reconciled that she refused to belong to any one. She sym- 
pathized with all who suffered, and they reciprocated in 
abundant gratitude. In her the sick had a tender and 
skilful nurse, the dead a sincere mourner, and the bereaved 
a friend, and at the burial of the poor, both black and 
white, she always had beautiful fiowers to lay upon the 
grave. And many a time have our tears flowed afresh as 
she modestly placed sweet flowers upon the fresh-made 
mound where there was no one else ready to relieve the 
darkness and distress of the tomb through those emblems 
of immortality. Her disposition was said to be sweetness 
personified, and it seemed to sweeten all others for a time 
that came in contact with it. 

Gladys was not beautiful, except so far as goodness made 
her so, and that was considerable. Her eyes were the en- 
larged windows of the soul, through which beamed a 
friendly and sympathetic light for the benefit of all, as 
shineth the beacon upon a stormy sea. And in her voice, 
that of the refined and cultivated Southern woman, was 
heard a melody of accent that betrayed the holy and happy 
source from which it emanated — the heart of a true woman. 
To praise her was not unseemly to those who knew her, and 
to deprecate her was not in the heart of any one. She was 
the mutual friend of the household at Forestfield, and when 
she entered the door we all felt that we were made better 


52 


FORESTFIELD 


thereby. She was known as ^^the angel of the neighbor- 
hood/’ and all heard with gladness the rustle of her wings. 

A short while before the nuptials between William Hol- 
combe and Elizabeth were solemnized, Mrs. Pemrose and 
the latter were sitting again in the summer-house, where 
they had so often repaired to talk in confidence and to ex- 
press those finer sentiments and reserved feelings which are 
the peculiar property of mother and daughter. On this 
occasion they were discussing Elizabeth’s approaching mar- 
riage in a preparatory way, lest the event might arrive pre- 
maturely. 

‘‘Mother,” said Elizabeth, “I can hardly realize that I am 
to be married within two weeks ; and when I do try to real- 
ize it I cannot think of it without some apprehension. 
Such a sudden and complete change in one’s life is no 
trifling matter. I feel sometimes that getting married is 
almost as solemn as death.” 

“You should not give way to such feelings, my daugh- 
ter,” said her mother; “but you should contemplate mar- 
riage as the happiest event of your life. I trust you do not 
regret the choice you have made.” 

“ Oh, no, mother ; I do not mean that, of course. I mean 
that I feel that my whole existence is about to be changed 
and that as far as the change is concerned it will be equiv- 
alent to death.” 

“Well, I believe I understand you now,” replied Mrs. 
Pemrose in a consoling tone. “But perhaps you would like 
to hear of the marriage of my Grandfather Trent to my 
grandmother in old Virginia sixty years ago. It might re- 
lieve you of your apprehensions.” 

“But that’s been so long ago, mother; and things are so 
very different now.” 

“ Oh, no ; true marriage, my daughter, is the same every- 
where and at all times.” 


FOEESTFIELD 


53 


^^Well, I should like to hear the story of my great-grand- 
parents’ marriage/’ concluded Elizabeth. 

“When my grandfather and grandmother Trent were 
married/’ continued Mrs. Pemrose, “nearly everybody lived 
in very plain houses and had very little room for display at 
weddings, had they been so disposed. , Indeed, they had 
nothing with which to make a show if they had had the 
room. Their clothes were chiefly of homespun, their food 
of the plainest kind, and the furniture in their houses was 
but little better than that in Aunt Caroline’s house. A blue- 
edged plate or a flowered pitcher was considered a luxury 
in queen’s-ware. 

“As regards conveyances, there were very few buggies 
or carriages in those days ; besides, the roads were extremely 
rough. So when Grandfather Trent went to be married he 
rode horseback, and returned with his bride sitting behind 
him. And when he went back to her father’s for her goods 
and chattels, he went in a two-wheeled cart with an ox 
hitched to it.” 

“I should like to have a picture of your grandparents 
riding double on their way home from their wedding,” said 
Elizabeth. “I know they must have looked happy.” And 
she laughed heartily at the imaginary picture. 

“Then, as regards light, they had only tallow candles and 
pine-knots,” resumed Mrs. Pemrose. “And you know that 
the occasion of their marriage could not have been very 
brilliant. But I think they were married in the daytime, 
so that as many of their relatives and friends as possible 
could be present. It was dangerous to attempt to travel 
by night through the woods and swamps at that early day 
on account of the roughness of the roads. 

“But there was an amusing incident that occurred in 
connection with grandfather’s wedding,” continued Mrs. 
Pemrose. “As he was returning home with his bride be- 


54 POEESTFIELD 

hind him, and his best man with one of the bridemaids 
behind him, they had occasion to cross a very miry swamp, 
and just as they reached the middle of it grandfather s 
horse made a lunge and down came his bride into the water 
and mud. The bridegroom leaped from his horse to rescue 
his bride, but the more he attempted to lift her out the 
deeper he sank into the mud himself. And when the best 
man saw that the groom was about to lose his bride he 
leaped from his saddle to assist him, when the two succeeded 
in placing her on the horse again, and they soon reached 
firm ground. 

^Tt was not because his bride was so heavy or that the 
mud was so deep, grandfather said, that he could not lift 
her out; but because they were both laughing so heartily 
that he could not exert half his strength. Grandfather lost 
one of his boots and left it sticking in the mire, and grand- 
mother’s dress was so soiled that she was ashamed to appear 
at her adopted home in that plight. So they both stopped 
at a neighbor’s house and readjusted their apparel before 
they went on.” 

As Mrs. Pemrose concluded her account of the old-fash- 
ioned wedding Elizabeth was so overcome with laughter 
that all her forebodings were dispelled and she resumed her 
wonted cheerfulness and said: “I should certainly call 
that an old-fashioned wedding. But I suppose that a wed- 
ding now (thinking of her own in prospect) would be 
called an old-fashioned one fifty years hence.” 

“Oh, yes, it certainly would,” replied her mother; “and 
the changes and improvements of the next fifty years will 
be greater than those of the last. But if there is true affec- 
tion within the two hearts united,” she began to moralize, 
“it makes little difference whether the wedding is simple or 
elaborate, or whether the parties ride in an ox-cart or in a 
carriage, or whether the log cabin be lighted by tallow can- 


FOEESTFIELD 


55 


dies or the mansion by candelabra. Bear that in mind, my 
daughter. But as your marriage is only two weeks off^ 
Elizabeth/’ continued Mrs. Pemrose, returning to the sub- 
ject which she had come to consider, think it time you 
were arranging the details of the occasion. What minister 
have you selected to solemnize the rites?” 

wish to have Brother Mason, our circuit preacher, but 
Mr. Holcombe has suggested Dr. Fisher of the college. 
You know Mr. Holcombe was a pupil of his and admires 
him very much. I admire him myself, but I think it best 
to invite our own pastor. What do you think about it, 
mother ?” 

think you are right. It is a courtesy that is due him 
and he can perform the ceremony as weU as Dr. Fisher.” 

^WVell, I suppose Mr. Holcombe is not so very particular 
about it,” said Elizabeth. ^^EeaUy, he will be here to-night 
to assist in arranging the details, and of course that will be 
decided then.” 

At this juncture Mrs. Pemrose and Elizabeth arose and 
returned to the house, for the day was declining, and as they 
proceeded along the garden walk the former remarked : 

“Your life, my daughter, has been very bright and happy 
so far, with the exception of your father’s death, and I trust 
it may so continue to the end. You enjoyed the society of 
your father until you were grown, and I trust that the im- 
pression which he made upon your character may never be 
erased. He was a good man, and you should always revere 
his memory ” 

“Of course I shall, mother,” interrupted Elizabeth. 

“Yes. But I wish to say,” resumed her mother, “that 
it was not so with me. I never knew the love of father or 
mother. A grandfather and grandmother were only sub- 
stitutes. Yet they were very kind. But a great mystery 
seems to have hung over my entire life of which I became 


56 


FORESTFIELD 


very sensible at an early age.' Your Grandfather and 
Grandmother Granville, you know, were carried off by the 
Indians and we have never heard from them since 

^‘Yes, mother, I know,^^ interrupted Elizabeth in a sub- 
dued and sympathetic tone. For she, too, had seen the 
shadow of her mother’s bereavement fall across her own 
path. 

“I was not old enough to appreciate the sad incident at 
the time,” continued Mrs. Pemrose, as she retarded her 
steps along the garden walk, ^^but it seems to me that ever 
since I could remember there has been something lacking 
in my life. It has appeared to me like a dream in which 
there is always some obstacle in the way that cannot be 
removed. Yet I have long felt that there will be a solution 
of the mystery and all shall be clear again. I feel that in 
some way the fate of my father and mother will be ex- 
plained.” 

“I hope so,” responded Elizabeth with a shade of doubt 
in her tone. 

‘‘But the strangest thing about the matter is,” continued 
Mrs. Pemrose, “that whenever I enter the garden alone at 
twilight to meditate I feel that there is near me a strange 
presence, though invisible, and I feel that I am standing 
just at the threshold of the mystery, ready to enter in and 
understand all.” 

“I trust you are not becoming superstitious, mother,” 
protested the daughter. 

“ Oh, no ; I have had this experience for many years. 
But you must excuse me for referring to the matter at all,” 
replied the mother, in an apologizing way, “for none of us ' 
are fully understood. Let us talk of things more agreeable, 
daughter. I am satisfied, Elizabeth, that your marriage 
will be a happy one, as far as we may judge of the future.” 

“I trust so, mother,” was the simple reply. 


FORESTFIELD 


57 


The young moon was hanging in the western sky like a 
golden ear-drop and the evening star shone like a diamond 
not far away. And as mother and daughter passed out of 
the garden gate the latter called attention to the brilliancy 
of the two heavenly bodies and exclaimed : Oh, how beau- 
tiful And her fair young face, looking upward, seemed 
to reflect the descending radiance as the light of hope. 

The mother and daughter then went into the house. 

Soon after supper William Holcombe arrived, according 
to promise, and he and Mrs. Pemrose and Elizabeth spent 
most of the evening apart from the family discussing the 
plans of the approaching marriage. It was decided to 
invite the pastor of the circuit to solemnize the rites, and as 
he would be in the community about that time to fill his ap- 
pointment at the Methodist church he would not be put to 
any great inconvenience. 

But the marriage did not take place within the church, 
as such was rarely the case in those days in that section 
of country, for the reason that the size and style of the 
edifice were so much out of harmony with the stately man- 
sions of the neighborhood. 

After selecting four couples as attendants and arranging 
a few minor details, Elizabeth, at the request of Mr. Hol- 
combe, sang a few songs with accompaniment on the 
guitar, as she did upon the evening of her betrothal. She 
had a sweet voice and a skilful touch on that instrument, 
and as the strains of music floated out into the summer 
night they seemed to utter a melodious prophecy, telling 
of unalloyed happiness that awaited the hopeful lovers. 
And as William Holcombe wended his way homeward that 
balmy June evening, humming over the sweet strains which 
had fallen from the dainty lips of his betrothed, he felt 
that there was no man in all the world as happy as he. 


58 


FORESTFIELD 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE MARRIAGE OF ELIZABETH. 

T he day appointed for the marriage of Elizabeth to 
William Holcombe arrived at last, and like all 
wedding days it brought a mixed cup of both joy 
and sorrow; joy on account of the consummation of the 
hopes of the two youthful hearts, and sorrow by reason of 
the disjointing of other sweet associations of life. The son 
could not be so much a son, nor the daughter so much a 
daughter, after paying the tribute of affection to an alien 
heart. Marriage is the upsetter of households in two senses. 

The double parlors at Forestfield, though the scene of 
other marriages before, were never so lovely, perhaps, as 
upon that night of the 21st of June, 1851. Festooned over 
door and window with fresh vines from the forest and 
garden, and decorated with clusters of pure white flowers, 
while richly hued bouquets in handsome vases stood here 
and there, they appeared as companion grottoes of the most 
wonderful fairyland. 

From each ceiling hung a brazen chandelier furnished 
with the purest wax tapers whose light scintillated upon 
the pendent prisms flashing a thousand rainbow hues, while 
upon the rich mahogany candle-stands stood silver candela- 
bra like unto the seven candlesticks of the ark of the cove- 
nant; all of which brilliant furniture was reflected by accu- 
rate and generous mirrors. 

As the announcement was made that the bridal party 


FOEESTFIELD 


69 


were ready to enter the south parlor, the Eev. Mr. Mason, 
with ritual in hand, took his place opposite and near the 
great fireplace, now hidden by a beautiful screen, and pre- 
pared to receive them. First came the four pairs of attend- 
ants, each liable to be mistaken for the bridal couple save 
for the absence of the bridal veil, who took their places, two 
couples on a side of the approach toward a small table, be- 
hind which stood the minister. The bridegroom and bride 
then took their positions facing the clergyman. After which 
came Alice and Mary Bee and took their stand behind the 
bridal couple, the former dressed in pink and the latter 
in blue. And as appropriate emblems of the occasion, Alice 
bore in her hands a Cupid’s bow and arrow, the former 
wreathed in tiny bows of white ribbon and the latter tipped 
with a white rose; while Mary Bee held up a great heart 
formed of crimson rosebuds. These little girls, who were 
normally sweet and lovely, now appeared as the most ex- 
quisite fairies from fairyland. 

Of course the bride was the center of attraction from the 
moment she entered the parlors upon the arm of the groom 
until she retired as a wife, bearing upon her heart and con- 
science the seal of both the civil and divine law. 

As I am not an adept at describing the fashionable cos- 
tumes of society, and especially those of a bride and groom, 
the reader will please pardon all blunders as I undertake the 
task here. 

The bride was dressed in white — the emblem of purity — 
with a cluster of pink roses at the left shoulder to empha- 
size the effect. At her throat was a small diamond breast- 
pin whose brilliant hashes were rivaled only by the bright 
and tender glow of her lovely blue eyes. Upon her brow 
rested a wreath of orange blossoms from which a gossamer 
veil flowed gracefully to the floor, while white satin 
slippers, with rosettes and silver buckles, completed the 


60 


FOEESTFIELD 


simple but tasteful attire of as attractive a bride as ever 
assumed the marriage vow in any land. 

The groom wore a black cloth coat, cut in pigeon-tail, 
with trousers to suit, a white satin waistcoat and white 
cravat. Upon the lapel of his coat was a white rosebud. 
Upon his feet were patent-leather shoes. And with his erect 
and manly form and intelligent countenance he showed 
himself worthy of the pure and lovely young woman at his 
side. 

The ceremony was performed with the use of the ring, 
which added to the adornments of the bride the significant 
endless band of gold which showed that each had plighted 
to the other a faith and loyalty that should never cease. 

Among the company present, but stationed in an isolated 
group, were Aunt Caroline, the cook; Uncle Ned, the gar- 
dener, Jim, the carriage driver, and Martha, the housemaid, 
who, being considered by all as privileged characters among 
the negroes on this occasion, waited anxiously to see their 
young mistress get married. 

“I’m boun’ to see my chile git off,’’ said Aunt Caroline 
just before the party entered; “an’ I’m gwine to stan’ 
right here by the chimleypiece whar I can see her good. 
An’ yawl niggers must behave yourselves now, an’ don’t git 
in de white folks’ way.” And she shook her finger at the 
dusky group. 

At every window in the parlors groups of negroes of 
many sizes, ages and looks had gathered and were peering 
in, eagerly watching everything that took place. And as the 
brilliant lights streamed out of doors they revealed many 
big mouths, thick lips, ivory teeth and white eyeballs, and 
withal many a bland smile of approbation upon a scene 
which emphasized their own inferiority and subjection to 
the white race. 

In striking contrast with these dusky groups, on the in- 


FORESTFIELD 


61 


side and the outside of the mansion, were the elite of the 
neighborhood, mingled with those who did not make so 
high pretensions, and all enjoying the occasion as one 
which represented the high tide of hospitality and social 
happiness. 

After the ceremony the company repaired to the spacious 
dining-room, where was spread, from the old-fashioned side- 
boards and served on the ancient silver plate and china of 
the family, a rich feast that had brought under contribution 
all the culinary resources and art of Forestfield, which were 
not at all meager, and at which the bride and groom for the 
first time as man and wife broke bread together in the sin- 
gleness of their hearts, signifying, it was hoped, that in the 
future all the blessings of life should be mutually shared 
and enjoyed by them with a liberal hospitality. 

Conspicuous among the guests that night were Squire 
Goodwin and Captain Ruffin, representative men of the 
neighborhood and great friends of the household of Forest- 
field. During the evening, as they sat together chatting, 
the bride and groom chanced to pass near them, when the 
squire called the couple to him and remarked, as he rose to 
congratulate them: 

“I think Captain Ruffin and myself have good reasons for 
claiming unusual privileges on this occasion, Mrs. Hol- 
combe.” 

^‘Why so. Squire Goodwin?” asked the bride. 

“Because I acted as best man at the marriage of Will- 
iam’s father, and the captain acted in the same capacity at 
the marriage of your father.” 

“Well,” replied the bride, “you are certainly entitled to 
such privileges and shall enjoy them.” 

“But do you know what those privileges are?” asked the 
squire, with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Hot particularly,” she answered. 


62 


FORESTFIELD 


^^Well, 1^11 tell you. The first privilege is the kissing of 
the bride. 

“Oh, no, no; yon are mistaken, squire,” exclaimed Eliza- 
beth, with laughter in her voice. “I can’t accept that.” 

“But I’ll leave it to the captain.” 

“Oh, but he’s interested, and isn’t a competent judge.” 

“Well, I’ll leave it to William,” suggested the squire. 
And he winked at the groom. 

“The squire is correct, Mrs. Holcombe,” was the reply; 
“and you must abide by your agreement.” 

“Oh, no; we shall have to submit the question to Mrs. 
Goodwin and Mrs. Ruffin for decision,” she protested. 

The two ladies were called, and with them came a number 
of guests who had been attracted by the merriment of the 
group. 

“Is kissing the bride a special privilege of any guest at 
a wedding, Mrs. Goodwin?” asked Elizabeth. 

“Why, yes, that of the groom,” was the witty reply. 

“But he’s no guest.” 

“Well, then, no one else has that special privilege,” con- 
cluded Mrs. Goodwin. 

“Is that your opinion, too, Mrs. Ruffin?” asked the 
bride. 

“It is,” was the answer. 

When the reason for the question had been explained 
Mrs. Goodwin suggested that, the gentlemen exercise their 
privilege by proxy, if they still insisted on it. And she 
asked the bride if she would accept the suggestion. 

“I will if I am allowed to select the proxy,” was the 
answer. 

“We agree to that compromise,” volunteered the squire; 
“make your selection.” 

“I choose Mrs. Goodwin and Mrs. Ruffin,” said the bride. 

“Agreed,” said several in concert. 


FOEESTFIELD 


63 


The squire and the captain then took their stand facing 
the bride, each with his wife standing next to him. Mrs. 
Goodwin then advanced and kissed the bride on one cheek, 
and Mrs. Ruffin followed and kissed her on the other. The 
two ladies then turned and kissed their respective husbands. 
A fine spirit of merriment and laughter then ensued, and 
all admitted that the two old gentlemen had exercised their 
special privilege in a very decorous manner. 

There was another conspicuous figure in the room be- 
sides Squire Goodwin and Capt. Ruffin and their wives, and 
she was no guest — it was Cousin Jane. Dressed in her 
black silk, and with her black wavy hair brushed down on 
her forehead and over her ears, and moving among the 
guests with ease and grace, she was a hostess to be admired 
and emulated. And meeting her during the evening, I dis- 
covered that while she was cheerful, she seemed to have 
been weeping — that last resort of women in sorrow and in 
joy. And I was glad to know that I had company in my 
own sober feelings. 

But she wept for neither sorrow nor joy alone, but for 
both. She sorrowed that her eldest daughter must needs 
divide her affections with another, and rejoiced that her 
own rival in the divided love was so exceptionally worthy. 
And when I thought of the severing of that lovely blossom 
from our family tree, whose beautiful character had so 
often caused my heart to throb with pride, I grasped the 
hand of Cousin Jane in silent and mutual recognition of 
the mutilation of our household and bowed my head in 
submission to the deprivation. 

Some time after supper, when the guests had about ex- 
hausted their flow of wit and humor in conversation. Miss 
Gladys Holcombe was called to the piano, when around her 
gathered a number of young ladies and gentlemen who 
proceeded to entertain the company with both instrumental 


64 ’ 


FORESTFIELD 


and vocal music. Miss Gladys was a proficient performer, 
and had a clear and sweet voice, and with her as leader the 
parlors were soon filled with the most soulful melody. The 
white guests within and the colored guests without were all 
charmed by the music, while the slave contingent, true to 
their nature, manifested their appreciation by nodding their 
heads and swaying their bodies in unison with the instru- 
ment. 

This caused Jabez Johnson to remark, as he looked out of 
the window upon the happy group : “A nigger would ruther 
dance than git to heaven.” 

Soon some elderly person called for ^^Old Folks at 
Home,” when the request was complied with in all the 
quaint and pathetic sweetness of which that old-time mel- 
ody is capable. And the power of the song was so great 
that it quickened the latent talents of many a guest and so 
inspired the musical genius of the negroes that it appeared 
as if every one present was wild with delight and singing 
with the fulness of his soul. And while the tears of melan- 
choly reflection were streaming down the cheeks of the 
elders the hearts of the youth were heaving with admiration 
for the remarkable scene. Even Jabez Johnson could not 
restrain a rising sigh as he leaned out of the window and 
remarked: That’s fine, ain’t it, Ned?” 

^Ht sho is, Marse Jabez; bless Gawd!” replied the old 
negro as he wiped the tears from his eyes with his cotton 
handkerchief. 

On rolled that sweet though sad refrain, which in its sim- 
ple pathos has moved so many hearts of both white and 
black — 


Way down upon the Swanee River, 

Far, far away; 

There’s where my heart is turning ever — 
There’s where the old folks stay. 


FOBESTFIELD 


65 


All up and down the whole creation 
Sadly I roam, 

Still longing for the old plantation 
And for the old folks at home. 

And when I was playing with my brother 
Happy was I; 

Oh, take me to my kind old mother — 

There let me live and die. 

Chorus. 

All the world is sad and dreary, 

Everywhere I roam; 

Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary, 

Far from the old folks at home. 

When the melody of the last verse had reached its climax, 
and every one seemed oblivions to everything else, there 
appeared at the front door an old man and an old woman; 
and without an invitation they tottered up the steps, each 
leaning upon a stick, and entered the north parlor. They 
were both dressed in a garb which showed long and rough 
usage, and from their bent and feeble gait they showed that 
they were old and infirm and weary and footsore from much 
travel. 

Upon their entering the parlor I approached the travel- 
ers and invited them to take seats, which they did side by 
side upon a divan. The old man wore a coonskin cap, In- 
dian moccasins and trousers made of buckskin. The old 
woman wore a faded sunbonnet pulled down over her eyes, 
a dress of very coarse cloth, several strings of beads about 
her neck and rings in her ears. The complexion of the trav- 
elers was brown and swarthy, and there were many indica- 
tions of their having been associated with the savages, if 
they did not bear a strain of Indian blood. 

When the singing had ceased and a group of the guests 


66 


FOKESTFIELD 


had gathered about the strange couple, I inquired of the old 
man where they were from and whither they were going. 

^^We heard the singing and just come in to rest awhile,” 
replied the old man without answering my question directly. 
‘‘We come a long ways and are goin’ still further on.” 

“Are you going to any place in particular?” I in- 
quired. 

“We are looking for our people. We left them a long 
time ago. We don’t know where they be.” 

“What is your name and the name of your people?” I 
asked. 

“We used to know; we don’t know now, it’s been so long 
ago,” was the regretful reply. 

At this juncture Cousin Jane, who had been observing 
the couple closely and listening to what the old man said, 
turned away and left the room much agitated. And I 
felt confident what character of thought was passing 
through her mind, and that the dark shadow of her life had 
fallen once more across her pathway. I could not refrain 
myself from feeling that the solution of the mystery might 
possibly lie within the history of the two old travelers. 

“Sing us that song ag’in. We used to sing it a long time 
ago, but we’ll never see the old folks at home any more,” 
said the old man in broken accents. His companion had 
not yet spoken a word, nor had she shown her face. 

The singers complied with the old man’s request at once, 
and as the melody of the song fell upon his ears I saw the 
tears trickle down his cheeks, while he turned his eyes to- 
ward the ceiling with an unearthly gaze, as if his thoughts 
and vision were taking hold of things unseen. His com- 
panion put her face into her hands and sobbed aloud. 

The song ceased, the old people rose to their feet, and 
against our most earnest solicitations they passed out of 
the house and into the night; and under the light of the 


FORESTFIELD 67 

moon we watched them trudging feebly on in search of their 
people. 

The next day we heard here and there many remarks of 
approval upon the happy occasion among both white and 
black. 

“Miss ’Liz’beth did sho git a fine man,” said Uncle Ned, 
as he rubbed his rough hands together. 

“When dey starts on dar bridal tower,” said Jim, the 
carriage driver, “you gwine to sho see shiny horses; dey 
gwine to be so slick and proud you can^t hardly hoF 'em 
on de groun'.” 

But Jabez Johnson capped the climax when he declared: 
“'Liz’beth wuz the purtiest bride I ever seen in my life. 
She must er be'n the one Parson Dick Hines is alius talkin' 
about in his pra'r — ^the fa'rest among ten thousan’ and 
altogether lovely.” 

Indeed every observer might have adopted with propriety 
the quotation of Jabez Johnson, as well as the following 
lines of the poet: 

The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom ; 

So fair a bride should leave her home! 

Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay; 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day! 


68 


FOKESTFIELD 


CHAPTER VIIL 

A BRIDAL TOUR AND A TRAGEDY. 

A FEW days after the wedding Mr. and Mrs. Hol- 
combe started upon their bridal tour, embracing a 
visit to an uncle of the groom who lived at Padu- 
cah, Kentucky. The route to be traveled consisted of dirt- 
road, railroad and steamboat. The first section, although 
occupied by a regular stage line, the couple decided to 
travel in their private carriage, which section was about 
twenty-five miles in length and led to the town of Decatur 
on the Tennessee River. And after crossing the river by 
ferryboat they would take the railroad train to Tuscumbia, 
about forty miles distant, situated on the same river at the 
head of navigation below the Mussel Shoals. From thence 
they would travel to their destination by steamboat. 

These different modes of travel promised to prove quite 
interesting to the young travelers, and they began their 
journey with pleasing anticipations. 

Upon the departure of the couple, not only the imme- 
diate families assembled to see them off, but a number of 
the neighbors also, as well as a few of the slaves of Forest- 
field. The bride and groom were very popular in the neigh- 
borhood, and everybody wished them a safe and pleasant 
journey. 

The weather was beautiful and everything seemed pro- 
pitious for an agreeable tour. And when the carriage 
rolled away that morning it carried, besides its passengers, 
a variety of good omens, such as old slippers, grains of rice 


FORESTFIELD 


69 


and sprinklings of salt, and many good wishes withal, 
wrapt in fervent prayers for the safe return of the trav- 
elers. 

That the departure might not be too abrupt, Elizabeth in- 
sisted that Edward and Alice should ride with them a short 
distance, and that I should go with the children and ac- 
company them back. We went as far as the mill, but found 
that the mere postponement of trouble never makes it less. 
And doubtless there were as many sighs heaved and tears 
shed and kisses bestowed at the mill as would have been at 
the yard gate. Eeally, I feared that the early start of the 
travelers would have been spoiled by Elizabeth’s repeated 
caressing and kissing of the children before she would 
allow them to return. But, slipping this account back a 
notch, amid the waving of handkerchiefs and the throwing 
of kisses the carriage rolled over the hills and away. The 
couple were to be absent about two months. 

When Jim, the carriage driver, brought out the clay-bank 
horses and hitched them to the carriage they were indeed, 
as he had predicted, “slick and shiny. And he mounted 
the box with as much pride as did Ben-Hur when he stepped 
into the chariot at Athens to win his famous race. The two 
horses were almost exactly alike in their dapple-yellow 
hides and snow-white manes and tails, and even in form 
and movement there was a remarkable resemblance. Few 
people could distinguish them, but Jim knew them apart, 
as he said, “as easy as a mammy knows her twin chillun.’’ 
But Jim took as much pride in the carriage as he did in 
the horses, and upon this occasion the bands and mount- 
ings of the vehicle shone like new money, as did also the 
buckles on the harness. This carriage and the horses were 
Jim’s proper treasure, and where his treasures were there 
was his heart also. He would almost have given his life in 
defense of them. 


70 


FORESTFIELD 


Jim was delighted at the prospect of the trip he was 
about to take, his only regret being that it was not half long 
enough. If Cousin Jane would have consented he would 
have gladly driven the carriage the entire tour. As he 
expressed it ; ^^Dar wasn’t no f o’ stage-horses on de road dat 
could keep ahead of Dapple and Nankeen.” 

At noon, when about half-way to Decatur, the travelers 
stopped at a spring to eat their lunch, feed the horses, and 
to rest awhile. And while thus engaged two horsemen 
rode up, dismounted, tied their horses and went to the 
spring and took a drink of water. After which they opened 
their saddle-bags and took out a lunch and began to eat. 
They were rather prepossessing in both appearance and 
manners, and indicated the latter by politely lifting their 
hats as they approached their fellow-travelers. Having 
finished their meal they both approached the carriage in 
which Mr. Holcombe and his wife sat and began conver- 
sation. 

“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the horsemen; “but I sup- 
pose you are upon a journey.” 

“Yes, sir; that is our situation,” replied Mr. Holcombe. 

“You are well prepared for a journey, I should think,” 
was the horseman’s suggestive inquiry. “Those are the 
prettiest horses I’ve seen in some time ; and I dare say you 
have a good driver.” And the speaker cast a furtive glance 
at Jim, who was then watering the horses from the spring. 

“Yes, sir; and we take great pride in our team and 
driver,” responded Mr. Holcombe with some interest. “You 
gentlemen seem to be riding good horses yourselves.” 

“Yes; it takes a good horse for a Methodist circuit rider, 
up and down the hills and through the swamps of this 
country.” 

“Ah, you are preachers, then?” suggested Mr. Hol- 
combe. 


FORESTFIELD 71 

“Yes, sir, and on our way from our mission fields below 
the river to visit our friends in Tennessee/’ 

“You are members of the Tennessee Conference, I sup- 
pose?” suggested Mr. Holcombe again. 

“Oh, yes, of course,” was the rather doubtful reply. 

“Then you are acquainted with the Eev. George Mason, 
who travels this circuit ?” 

“Not intimately; but we have met him at the confer- 
ence,” replied the circuit rider (?) with hesitation. 

“My name is Holcombe,” volunteered our traveler. 
“What is your name?” 

“My name is Porter, and this is Brother Flemming,” re- 
plied the horseman, as he nodded toward his companion. 

Mr. Holcombe then introduced the preachers to his wife. 

“We should like to remain and talk to you longer. 
Brother Holcombe,” said the Eev. Mr. Porter, “but we 
have a long journey before us, and must be going.” 

After bidding the bridal couple good-by, and shaking 
hands with them, the circuit riders resumed their journey, 
taking the northern end of the road. 

Jim then hitched the horses to the carriage, mounted 
the box, and our travelers resumed their journey, taking 
the southern end of the road. And as they rolled along 
they began to discuss the incident of meeting with the two 
circuit riders at the spring, but entertaining some doubt of 
their reliability. 

“Jim,” said Mr. Holcombe, “what do you think of the 
two gentlemen we met at the spring?” 

“I don’t think much of ’em, Marse William,” replied 
Jim; “a preacher ain’t gwine to have no pistol in his 
pocket, trav’lin’ ’long de road preachin’ de gauspel.” 

“Why, did they have a pistol, Jim?” inquired Mr. Hol- 
combe with surprise. 

“Day sho did, kase I seed it.” 


FORESTFIELD 


n 

“Are you sure ^ou saw a pistol, urged Mr. Hol- 

combe. 

“Jest as sbo as I m livinV’ replied the driver with much 
emphasis. 

“They may be highway robbers, as far as we know,^^ 
said Mrs. Holcombe, with a perceptible tremor in her voice ; 
“and they may yet do us harm before we get to Decatur.” 

“Oh, no,” replied her husband in an encouraging tone; 
“we are not likely to see them again, even if they are 
robbers.” 

“Well, Mr. Holcombe, what do you really think of 
them?” asked his wife. “Do you think they are preach- 
ers ?” 

“If Jim is correct in saying that he saw pistols on them, 
I have my doubts,” replied Mr. Holcombe. 

With this the subject was dropped and the travelers 
went on their way conversing upon more pleasant themes. 

About five miles beyond the spring where our travelers 
had stopped to rest at noon, and just opposite a new-ground 
where an overseer was superintending a lot of slaves en- 
gaged in removing the fallen logs from the land, one of 
the front wheels of the carriage ran off and gave the occu- 
pants quite a jolt. Jim, the driver, was thrown from the 
box and slightly bruised, but Mr. Holcombe and his wife, 
being protected from the concussion by the cushions and 
padding within the vehicle, were not injured. However, 
the driver was not too badly hurt to mount one of the horses 
and return in search of the lost nut. 

While waiting for Jim to return with the nut, Mr. Hol- 
combe noticed a commotion among the slaves in the field, 
and soon discovered that the overseer was preparing to pun- 
ish one of them. The culprit seemed to be rather an old 
man, and not so stout as he might have been, even for his 
age, but showed that hard work and bad treatment had 


FORESTFIELD 


73 


robbed him of much of his normal strength. His condition 
at once excited the sympathy of the two strangers. 

“Bring him along here, Mose,’’ remarked the overseer in 
a gruff way to a young negro who was leading the victim 
by a rope which bound his hands behind him, as the two 
followed their master a few paces in the rear. “You nig- 
gers have got to stop playin^ off on me an’ makin’ out you 
can’t lift these logs. I’m goin’ to give that fellow a thrash- 
in’ that he won’t soon forget! A trifling rascal!” And 
the speaker cracked his bull-whip, which made the remain- 
ing horse at the carriage jump and startled Elizabeth by its 
cruel sound. The rest of the slaves dared to suspend their 
work and to look excitedly toward the overseer. 

When the overseer and his party reached the fence near 
the public road, the former proceeded to strap the offending 
slave across a large log, face downward, and to apply the 
lash vigorously, accompanied by the rudest and most pro- 
fane language. And as Mr. Holcombe and his wife stood 
near the carriage, from which they had alighted after the 
accident, their ears were greeted by the most distressing 
cries from the victim, mingled with the most horrid curses 
of his persecutor. But lest this page should be scandalized 
and the finer feelings of the reader offended, I shall give no 
further particulars of the unrefined and cruel procedure. 
Suffice it to say that it was an inhuman act and an excep- 
tional case in the discipline of American slavery. 

When Mr. Holcombe realized the enormity of the over- 
seer’s conduct he assisted his wife into the carriage, as un- 
comfortable as it was, that she might be shielded as much as 
possible from the disgusting spectacle. He then proceeded 
to enter his protest against it. 

William Holcombe knew that in a sense he had no right 
to interfere with the conduct of another on his own prem- 
ises; but the proximity of the public road and the cruelty of 


74 


FORESTFIELD 


the deed both appealed in justice to his better nature and 
prompted him to do his duty. Advancing up to the fence 
near which the overseer stood, he remarked in as polite a 
manner as his excited feelings would allow: 

Haven’t you punished the old man sufficiently, sir?’^ 

^‘What have you got to do with it?’^ demanded the over- 
seer, as he turned his head toward the speaker and looked 
at him fiercely. 

“Nothing more than for the sake of humanity,’^ replied 
the other in an earnest way. 

“Well, you’d better take care of your own humanity and 
let other people’s alone!” rejoined the overseer. And he 
proceeded to lash his victim again. 

“Come, now, my friend,” pleaded Mr. Holcombe, “and 
let us reason about this matter. I’m sure you’re in the 
wrong.” 

“I’ll reason about nothin’,” was the resentful reply. 
“And especially about my own business.” 

“I’ll admit that it’s your business,” yielded Mr. Hol- 
combe; “but it’s my business, too. Enough of a thing is 
enough.” 

“You never owned a slave, I reckon,” retorted the other; 
“and you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about I The devil 
gits into ’em sometimes, and he’s got to be whipped out of 
’em !” And he raised his whip again and let it come down 
upon his victim with such force as to draw the blood and 
cause the latter to cry out bitterly for mercy. But the 
reader will pardon these particulars, as I forgot my 
promise. 

This so aroused Mr. Holcombe that he at once deter- 
mined to abandon mild measures and to resort if necessary 
to harsher means. And in a very positive way he remarked : 

“Do you know, sir, that you are violating the law in pun- 
ishing a slave on the public road? Though you may care 


FOEESTFIELD 75 

nothing for your victim, I hope yon will respect the 
law.” 

I’m violating the law, sir, I’m responsible for it, 
an’ not yon!” replied the overseer, as the fire of anger 
flashed from his crnel eyes. And he applied with more 
vigor the lash to the back of the poor slave. 

Mr. Holcombe, seeing that he conld make no impression 
npon the obdnrate and crnel man by appealing to mercy 
or the law, and that he was not cnrtailing the snfferings of 
the slave, decided to make a personal matter of it at all 
hazards, and said: 

^^Look here, sir! Yon are ontraging the feelings of my 
wife by yonr inhnman condnct, and if yon don’t desist at 
once I shall force yon to!” And as he said this he pnt 
his hands npon the fence, leaped over and placed him- 
self face to face with his opponent. 

When Mrs. Holcombe heard the latter remark of her 
hnsband and saw him leap the fence she bonnded from the 
carriage and, hastening toward the scene, cried ont : 

“Come back, Mr. Holcombe, and let the man alone! 
Yon might as well be contending with a wild beast !” 

Bnt before his wife conld finish her appeal and reach the 
spot, Mr. Holcombe had seized the rnffian by the throat 
with one hand and was ready to pnnish him if necessary 
with the other. And being of a powerfnl physiqne, he soon 
convinced his opponent that he was confronted by a man 
who had not only determined to conqner him, bnt one who 
was fnlly able to do so. And yielding to the penetrating 
and awe-inspiring gaze of his antagonist, the overseer said 
in a trembling and cowering spirit: “Well, I reckon I 
onght to considered the presence of the lady and not nnder- 
took to whip the nigger right here. I beg her pardon, sir.” 

At this concession of the rnffian Mr. Holcombe let go 
his grasp npon his throat and replied : 


76 


FORESTFIELD 


^^Your apology is accepted, sir, provided you release this 
negro at once and send him home.” 

^‘Yes, sir; your apology is entirely satisfactory to me,” 
interrupted Mrs. Holcombe, eagerly, ^^and I am very sorry 
it happened.” 

“I am very sorry, too, madam,” replied the overseer in a 
confused and obsequious manner; ‘^and I reckon you are 
right. Maybe I did lash the nigger a little too much. Yes; 
I beg your pardon, madam.” 

The unfortunate slave was then released, and in company 
with Mose he hobbled across the field on his way home. And 
as Jim returned about the same time with the lost nut, the 
overseer, to the great surprise of the travelers, offered to 
assist in replacing the wheel on the carriage. His services 
were gratefully accepted and the delayed party soon resumed 
their journey. But as the carriage rolled away the repent- 
ant overseer was heard to repeat : 

“I know I was in the wrong, madam, and I ask your 
pardon.” 

This chivalrous act on the part of Mr. Holcombe was no 
abnormal freak of his nature, but his entire former life had 
been consistent with it. He had always been ready to take 
the part of the weaker side, and never considered the per- 
sonal inconvenience or even danger to which his chivalry 
might have exposed him. The sufferings of both man and 
beast appealed to his generous and sympathetic nature, and 
not even a worm was trodden underfoot. Nor could the 
accusation of being ‘‘officious” or “chicken-hearted,” ap- 
plied to him by some who could not appreciate the loftiness 
of his soul, divert him one hair’s breadth from the path 
of heroic duty. 

Both Mr. Holcombe and his wife regretted very much the 
disagreeable episode of their journey, but as it had resulted 
in a much more satisfactory manner than they expected, 


FOEESTFIELD 


77 


they were disposed to become reconciled. Yet they con- 
gratulated themselves that they were enabled to rescue a 
poor slave from extreme punishment, and to rebuke unto re- 
pentance a cruel master. 

About an hour by sun, as the travelers entered the river- 
bottom upon their approach to the ferry, the driver turned 
and said that he saw the same two horsemen whom he had 
seen at the spring cross the road some distance ahead of the 
carriage, and that there was a negro man with them with 
his hands tied behind him. 

This startling statement Mr. Holcombe and his wife were 
at first inclined to doubt, attributing it to Jim’s excited con- 
dition. But when the driver insisted upon it, they ac- 
cepted it as being true. And as the carriage passed the spot 
where the men were supposed to have been seen, Mr. Hol- 
combe looked carefully on both sides of the road, when he 
discovered them as they were just entering a dark recess of 
the forest, where they soon disappeared. 

When the travelers reached the ferry, which they did 
about a half-hour later, they related what they had seen 
to the ferryman and asked what he thought of it. He 
said he thought the horsemen must belong to the band of 
John A. Murrell, who were making away with a negro 
whom they had kidnapped, and that the two men had 
crossed his ferry before, when he took them to be circuit 
riders. He said, also, that he was confident they belonged 
to the Murrell band. 

The band of John A. Murrell, it is said, was an organi- 
zation of slave-stealers reaching from Kentucky to Louisi- 
ana, and that many men purported to be among the best 
citizens in the country were connected with it and shared in 
the profits. They would not only kidnap a slave and 
hurry him off to some Southwestern State and sell 
him, but they would persuade others to go with them will- 


78 


FOEESTFIELD 


ingly, promising to divide with them the purchase money. 
The slave would then run away from his new master and 
allow himself to be sold again. By this means they sus- 
tained a constant clandestine trade in slaves and made it 
quite profitable. 

It is said that John Murrell himself had been arrested 
while occupying the pulpit, having passed himself off as a 
preacher. And it was not strange that members of his band 
should adopt the same ruse. Finally he was captured and 
convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary for a long term ; 
but on account of ill-health, which was about to prove fatal, 
he was pardoned and released. After which he soon died. 
While he and his followers were accused of committing 
murder in connection with slave-stealing, they were never 
convicted of that crime. 

Being now satisfied that the two horsemen he had met at 
the spring were slave-stealers, Mr. Holcombe became un- 
easy concerning the safety of Jim upon his return home 
with the carriage; while the driver himself showed much 
apprehension whenever the subject was mentioned. 

The travelers soon passed over the river and put up for 
the night at the Decatur tavern, intending to take the rail- 
road train the next day. The ferryboat upon which they 
had crossed was propelled by blind horses as they stepped 
upon a wheel under their feet. It was an interesting sight 
for Jim to see, as he said — “horses puUing a boat and ridin’ 
der selves.’’ 

The next morning before the train started Mr. Hol- 
combe went down to the ferry with the driver and saw that 
he was safely set on the home side of the river. And after 
giving him some advice and a message to the home folks 
sent him upon his way — but not rejoicing. Eeturning to 
the tavern he found his wife ready to resume the journey on 
the train. In this way our travelers were to be conveyed 


FORESTFIELD 


79 


about forty miles, where they would take steamboat pas- 
sage for the rest of their journey. 

During their stay at the tavern our travelers became ac- 
quainted with a very interesting young lady, who, accom- 
panied by her brother, was returning from college, where 
she had just graduated. She was quite intelligent and ac- 
complished and talked in an interesting manner about her 
experience at school, how glad she was that her schooldays 
were over, and how bright and promising the future ap- 
peared to her. Mrs. Holcombe became so much interested 
in her new acquaintance, who would travel with her as far 
as Tuscumbia, that she made it convenient to sit beside her 
on the cars while Mr. Holcombe and the brother sat to- 
gether. 

The train had not proceeded more than twelve or fifteen 
miles when it jumped the track and caused the passenger 
coach to overturn. A number of persons were thrown from 
their seats and slightly injured, including Mr. Holcombe, 
but only one was seriously hurt, the young lady who was sit- 
ting by Mrs. Holcombe. As she sat next to the window a 
large and sharp stone which pierced the glass struck her on 
the temple and injured her mortally. As the accident hap- 
pened near a village the unfortunate young lady was taken 
to the office of a physician, where she expired about an hour 
later, and as the brother had no other acquaintance on the 
train Mr. and Mrs. Holcombe decided to remain with him 
until the body of his sister had been buried. 

Before the young woman died she was able to converse 
with her brother and Mrs. Holcombe, and conveyed to them 
her dying requests. She being a devout Christian she as- 
sured them that her future was bright and hopeful and that 
she had no fear of death. And to show her appreciation of 
the kindness of her new-made friend she bade her brother 
to look into her trunk and get out a small gold locket. 


80 


FORESTFIELD 


put into it a lock of her hair and give it to Mrs. Holcombe 
as a dying testimonial. 

The calm but heroic words of the dying girl in connec- 
tion with the sudden and fatal accident brought tears to 
the eyes of every observer, and the short though agreeable 
association which some had enjoyed with her caused them to 
express their feelings very freely. 

^^How sweetly she sang for us last night at the tavern/’ 
said one with great emotion; ^^and especially the air of 
^Home, Sweet Home/ which she had not the privilege of 
reaching on earth, but which she has reached in heaven.” 

“How beautiful in life!” said a motherly woman softly. 
“And yet how beautiful in death 1” 

“What a pity!” declared a fatherly man to a group out- 
side the death-chamber, “that such an admirable specimen 
of young womanhood should be cut off so suddenly at the 
very threshold of a hopeful life.” 

When the body had been prepared for temporary inter- 
ment and many felt that they could do nothing more for the 
grief-stricken brother, all the passengers except Mr. and 
Mrs. Holcombe resumed their seats in the car, which had 
been replaced on the track, with sad hearts and tearful eyes, 
carrying with them a pathetic recollection of the tragic but 
beautiful death of Flora McLain. 

The next day a minister was procured, a funeral service 
held, and the body was buried within the enclosure of a 
little garden, kindly offered by a good woman of the vil- 
lage. Beautiful flowers were laid upon the grave, a plain 
board bearing the inscription: “Flora McLain, Vicks Wg, 
Miss.,” was placed at the head of the mound, and the 
mourners for the death of a stranger turned sadly away. 

When the next train came along for Tuscumbia, our 
travelers, with the bereaved brother, resumed their journey 
and reached the landing in sufficient time to take the boat. 


FORESTFIELD 


81 


as it had been delayed for twenty-four hours, and had not 
left its moorings. Mr McLain traveled with Mr. and Mrs. 
Holcombe only as far as Tuscumbia, where he took the stage 
for his home in Vicksburg, Miss. And upon leaving them 
he expressed abundant gratitude for their kindness and sym- 
pathy, assuring them that he would never forget them. 

Our bridal couple prosecuted the rest of their journey in 
a thoughtful mood, reflecting upon the Scriptural decla- 
ration; ^^Ye know not what a day may bring forth.” 


82 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTER IX. 

JIM AND THE SLAVE-STEALEES. 

W HEX Mr. Holcombe saw Jim, the carriage 
driver, safely upon the home side of the Ten- 
nessee, he instructed him to stop at the spring 
about noon, eat his snack, feed the horses and take a rest. 
And he cautioned him especially in regard to the slave- 
stealers, warning him not to fall asleep, but to keep a 
sharp watch, lest he be surprised and carried off. For he 
was now satisfied, from what he had seen and heard, that 
the two horsemen seen at the spring the day before were 
members of John A. Murrell’s band. 

“You needn’t be skeered ’bout me, Marse William; I’m 
sho to keep one eye open on dem folks,” replied Jim, trying 
to screw up his courage. “Dey ain’t gwine to git dis here 
nigger.” 

At this parting boast Jim cracked his whip and soon 
disappeared in the dark river-bottom. Mr. Holcombe re- 
crossed the river and returned to the tavern. 

As Jim drove slowly along through the deep and sticky 
mud, for it had rained the night before, he could not help 
thinking about the slave-stealers, and constantly looked 
from one side of the road to the other as if expecting them 
to rush out of the dense woods and seize him. And when 
an owl called out from a tree near the road, ^‘er-hoo! 
er-hoo ! er-hoo ar you !” he came near falling from his seat. 
He did more than he had promised to do; he kept both eyes 
“open on dem folks,” and both ears. 


FORESTFIELD 


83 


When Jim arrived at the spring it was past noon, for he 
had gotten a late start, and the roads being very bad he 
made slow progress. Having taken the horses from the 
carriage and fed them, and having eaten his snack, he con- 
cluded that as the horses were quite tired he would rest 
longer than he had intended. So getting into the carriage 
and fixing himself comfortably among the soft cushions, 
he soon fell asleep, as a negro will do. 

But Jim had not been asleep long when the two men 
who had met him there the day before came out of the 
bushes and going up to the carriage looked in, and without 
disturbing the sleeper proceeded to hitch the horses to the 
vehicle. They fully appreciated the negro capacity for 
sound sleep, and they were not at all afraid of fiushing their 
game before the time. 

When the horses had been hitched to the carriage one of 
the men got inside and the other upon the box, and they 
were soon rolling rapidly through the woods in a direction 
Jim had not intended to travel; and when the front 
wheel of the vehicle struck a large bowlder the recoil was so 
great that it even wakened Jim from his slumbers, who — 
gazing about him in a half-conscious state and thinking 
that the carriage was rolling down hill of its own accord 
(for there was a steep place where the carriage had stood) 
— sprang to his feet and attempted to jump out of the 
window, when he was seized by the man inside and jerked 
back upon the seat. 

^^Who is dat?’^ exclaimed Jim, not yet fully awake. 

You’d better git outen here! I’ll tell Marse William! He 
told me p’intedly not to let nobody git in dis carriage!” 
And coming a little more to his senses he added, “Whar is 
me, anyhow? Who’s drivin’ dem horses? I’m gwine tell 
ole mistis!’’ 

But soon becoming fully conscious of his situation he 


84 


FORESTFIELD 


realized that the slave-stealers had him and that it was 
useless to protest, especially when a pair of handcuffs were 
upon his wrists and the muzzle of a derringer in his face. 

On and on the carriage sped through the dense woods, 
deeper and deeper into the swamp, and deeper and deeper 
did Jim’s heart sink into anguish and despair. And when 
the robbers had driven about two hours along an unfre- 
quented road, and sometimes along no road, they drew rein 
and stopped near a very steep bluff covered with vines, 
shrubs and trees, at which place the men got out of the 
carriage with their prisoner and sat upon a fallen tree to 
rest. 

Poor Jim, who was not allowed to express his sentiments 
just then, did some rapid and serious thinking, and es- 
pecially when he saw Dapple and Nankeen all covered with 
foam and panting as if they would die, and saw the car- 
riage all bruised and spattered with mud. Never again, 
he thought, would he have the pleasure of hitching those 
beautiful horses to that carriage and driving his mistress 
and her family to church. And in such a train as this his 
mind ran on until he was commanded to get up and follow 
one of his captors in the direction oMthe bluff, under which 
was an ample cave. 

While one of the men led the prisoner off, the other got 
upon the carriage and drove away into the forest, but re- 
turned in a short time to rejoin his companion in the cave. 
This was apparently the chief rendezvous of the slave- 
stealers in that section of the country, where they first con- 
fined their captives until they could make arrangements for 
rushing them off to market. 

When he entered the cave Jim was startledxto see another 
negro man in a similar condition to his own, being bound 
hand and foot and chained to a big log. But not being 
allowed to speak, the prisoners could only look at each 


FORESTFIELD 


85 


other and exchange sympathetic glances. Jim’s feet were 
then bound together and he was left in company with the 
other negro, while the two robbers retired outside the cave 
for the purpose of arranging, perhaps, their future plans. 
The captives would have spoken to one another then, but as 
they could still hear their captors talking they were afraid. 

Soon the night came on, and after the two prisoners had 
eaten their supper, which was a bountiful supply of whole- 
some food — for the slave-stealers must needs treat their 
captives well for the sake of the profit — they lay down with 
their captors near by. But there was no sleep for Jim, for 
his thoughts were wandering all night about the plantation 
of Forestfield. 

The next morning Dapple and Nankeen, looking about 
as well as usual, were hitched to a wagon, and after placing 
provisions and other things necessary for a long journey 
into the vehicle, the captors with their captives started off, 
the prisoners, at least, not knowing whither they went. 
But it was ascertained afterward that the kidnappers took 
their victims to Vicksburg, Mississippi. 

The time came when Jim was expected to arrive at 
Forestfield, but he did not appear. A margin of two hours 
passed, but still he did not come. At last bedtime came, 
but there was no Jim to be seen. 

do wonder what makes Jim stay so late,” said Cousin 
Jane as she arose from her seat on the veranda and turned 
to go into her room. 

“No doubt he will be here presently, Mrs. Pemrose,” re- 
plied Miss Gladys Holcombe, who was staying at Forestfield 
until the return of the bridal couple. 

“Yes,” added Jabez Johnson, “he’ll come up all right. 
You can’t lose that nigger.” 

The family then retired, expecting to find Jim at home 
in the morning. The morning came, but there was no sign 


86 


FOEESTFIELD 


of Jim, and an irresistible fear began to settle upon every 
one that something was wrong. They knew that the driver 
was always remarkably prompt in his duties and prom- 
ises. 

‘^He may have been delayed at the ferry,” surmised 
Cousin Jane, “and will be here some time to-day.” 

The day passed, the night came on, but the missing negro 
did not appear. So Cousin Jane determined to send in 
search of him, and requested Jabez to go and ask Mr. Jesse 
Holcombe to come over to Forestfield the next morning, 
as she wished to have him go in search of Jim. 

Jesse, a younger brother of William Holcombe, came over 
to Forestfield as requested and agreed to go in search of 
the negro. But it was several days before he could get off. 
His theory was that the slave-stealers had probably gotten 
hold of Jim, and that it would be necessary to take a long 
journey in search of him. He prepared himself accord- 
ingly, mounted his horse and entered upon the search. 

About a week after Jesse Holcombe’s departure Cousin 
Jane received a weekly newspaper containing the following 
item of news: 

“It is reported that a serious accident occurred yesterday 
on the railroad between Decatur and Tuscumbia, by which 
a bride on her bridal tour was painfully if not fatally in- 
jured. We have not heard the particulars of the accident, 
and trust that it was not so bad as reported.” 

Upon reading the above Cousin Jane became very much 
burdened with fear and suspense, as she knew that the date 
corresponded with that on which Mr. Holcombe and Eliza- 
beth passed over the railroad. But Miss Gladys reminded 
her that if Elizabeth had been hurt she certainly would have 
heard the particulars before that. This consoled her to some 
extent, as she was not hysterical, and she set about at once 
to ascertain the truth. But before she had time to fully 


FOKESTFIELD 


87 


investigate the report she received a letter from Elizabeth, 
mailed en route, giving a full account of the sad death of 
Flora McLain. 

As J esse Holcombe proceeded on the road traveled by his 
brother he frequently inquired if a carriage drawn by two 
clay-bank horses and driven by a negro had been seen com- 
ing in the opposite direction on a certain day. But he 
heard nothing of them until he had passed the spring at 
which his brother had stopped to rest. One man told him 
that he had seen such a carriage about noon on the day 
mentioned turn from the main road and go in the direc- 
tion of the spring, but on account of the heavy rains that 
had fallen in the mean time he could discover no trace of 
the carriage. 

Jesse Holcombe determined to go on to Decatur and 
make inquiries there, as he was now confident that the 
negro had been kidnapped by the slave-stealers and rushed 
off to the Southwest. Upon arriving at the river the ferry- 
man told him that no such carriage as he described had 
crossed there since the day a gentleman put a similar equip- 
age across the river from the Decatur side and returned 
himself to the tavern. 

This information so nonplussed our young detective that 
he determined to go down the river to another ferry and 
make inquiries. And when he reached Brown’s Ferry he 
was told that two white men had crossed the river there 
several days before with a covered wagon drawn by two 
fine clay-bank horses ; but as to what they had in the wagon 
no one knew. 

Being satisfied now that he was on the track of the 
robbers Jesse Holcombe pressed on with all speed, hoping to 
overtake them soon. But before he had gone very far he 
lost all trace of them, as they were several days ahead of 
him. However, when he reached Tuscumbia he learned 


88 


FORESTFIELD 


that two white men, with two negroes and two clay-hank 
horses, had taken passage two or three days before on a 
steamboat. And believing that the fugitives intended to 
go down the Tennessee Eiver to Paducah, Kentucky, and 
then descend the Mississippi to the Southwest, he resolved 
to continue his course westward overland into the State of 
Mississippi with the hope of intercepting them. And ac- 
cording to this plan he pushed on until he had reached 
Vicksburg, in that State, where he resolved to wait develop- 
ments, for he knew that this place was a rendezvous for 
slave-dealers in the Southwest. 

Upon reaching Vicksburg and inquiring for a boarding- 
house Jesse Holcombe was directed to the home of a Mr. 
McLain, who had advertised for one or two boarders for the 
summer, and wishing to remain in the city in as retired a 
manner as possible, he engaged board with the above gen- 
tleman, who did not reside within the city limits, but just 
far enough outside to enjoy the advantages of both town 
and country life. 

Upon hearing the name McLain J esse Holcombe’s curios- 
ity was at once aroused to know if the family were related 
to Miss Flora McLain, the unfortunate young lady who 
was killed in the railroad accident between Decatur and 
Tuscumbia, Alabama, when his brother was upon his bridal 
tour. After talking with the family he found that his con- 
jectures were true. And when the family discovered that 
he was a brother to William Holcombe, who with his wife 
was so kind to Flora and her brother in their great dis- 
tress, they felt that they could scarcely do too much for 
his comfort. He was made to feel that he was at home and 
had the freedom of the place. 

The McLain family consisted of father and mother, a son 
Charles and a daughter Clara. They were in comfortable 
circumstances, though not wealthy, and were of excellent 


FORESTF'IELD 


89 


character ; and*no more agreeable household could have been 
found in all the city and vicinity. Here our young detec- 
tive remained for some time, going down town and to the 
boat landing frequently, keeping a strict watch upon all 
negro traders who landed their property and making in- 
quiries about the movements of slave-stealers who were 
apprehended with kidnapped slaves on hand for sale. 

The authorities at Vicksburg were fully aware of the 
depredations of John A. Murrell and his band, and prom- 
ised to assist the young detective in every way possible to 
capture the fugitives. And Jim, the trusty carriage driver, 
was truly worthy of every effort for his recovery, not so 
much because he was commercially valuable, but because he 
was a good negro and devotedly attached to his owners. 
The Pemroses and Granvilles had always borne the reputa- 
tion of treating their slaves kindly, while their kindness 
was fully appreciated by the slaves. They would never sell 
their slaves against their will nor separate members of the 
same family. Jesse Holcombe felt, therefore, that he was 
not only doing a favor for a friend, but was performing a 
humane deed and a public benefaction as well when he 
started in pursuit of the rogues who had kidnapped the 
carriage driver, Jim. 


90 


FOKESTFIELD 


CHAPTER X. 

DETECTIVE WOKK IN TWO SENSES. 

I N order to set as wide a net as possible for the fugi- 
tives Jesse Holcombe communicated with the civil 
officers in different parts of the country around 
Vicksburg, giving them as accurate a description of the 
parties as he could, and bidding them keep a sharp lookout. 
His further instructions were that if the officers should 
discover grounds upon which to suspect any one they were 
to communicate with him and he would come and investi- 
gate the matter. 

Nearly every day he would visit the boat landing, or at 
least as often as the boats would arrive, and scrutinize 
closely in an unconcerned manner every male passenger who 
came down the gangplank and every cargo that was put 
ashore. He would also hear as many conversations be- 
tween suspected slave-dealers as he could and would always 
visit the slave-market whenever a slave was placed upon the 
block. In short, nothing was allowed to escape his notice 
that he suspected would in the least throw light upon his 
problem. 

One day as he was strolling about town our detective 
overheard a rich planter from the country inquire of the 
conductor of the slave market where he could get a likely, 
smart negro man who could attend to horses and drive a 
carriage. He wanted one who was trusty and who had some 
experience in such work. 

“Now, colonel,’’ said the planter, addressing the slave- 
dealer, “I want a fellow that can sprinkle the sand into any 


FORESTFIELD 


91 


diteh in this country without running into it; a fellow, by 
George, that can drive like a Jehu when I tell him or go 
so slow that a snail can get out of his way.’’ 

“I’m as good a judge of nigger-flesh, captain,” replied 
the slave-dealer, “as any man in Mississippi. I can tell by 
the cut of his eye whut he’s good fur. And I’m looking fur 
a lot every day, and when they come 111 let you know.” 

“I want the pick of ’em, colonel.” 

“You can git it, captain, ef you’re the highest bidder.” 

In this brief conversation our detective thought he had 
found at least a finger-board pointing in the direction of 
his objective point, whether he should ever reach it or not. 
And he determined to keep his eye on both the “colonel” 
and the “captain” and await developments. In summing 
up his conclusions our detective reasoned thus: “Here is a 
man who wishes to purchase and another man who wishes 
to seU the very article I am in search of, and there is a 
probability, at least, that we three may some day come to- 
gether with myself in the midst and master of the situa- 
tion.” 

Walking about the slave-market soon after this in a care- 
less but observant manner, J esse Holcombe chanced to meet 
the colonel again and fell into conversation with him; but 
taking care not to reveal his own business in town he suc- 
ceeded in learning a great deal about the business of the 
colonel and some things that had an important bearing upon 
the matter he had in hand. 

“Do you transact much business in your line at this sea- 
son of the year, sir?” asked the young stranger of the slave- 
dealer. 

“Not as much as we do in the fall, sir,” replied the 
dealer; “then’s about the time the planters is makin’ ar- 
rangements for another year, and thar’s more ready money 
in the country at that time.” 


92 


FOEESTFIELD 


Where do yon get the most of the slaves you sell here, 
if that’s a fair question?’’ 

reckon that might be a fair question,” replied the 
dealer with hesitation. “We git the most of our slaves 
from Kentucky and Tennessee and Northern Alabama. 
You see, niggers don’t like to live down here in the bottoms, 
and when they git the devil in ’em in the upper country 
they’re sent down here to be sold, where they can have the 
devil took out of ’em.” 

At the risk of exciting suspicion Jesse Holcombe could 
not refrain from asking one more question. “Are not 
slaves sometimes stolen in the upper countr}', as you call it, 
and brought down here and sold ?” 

“Well, sir, that’s somethin’ nobody don’t know much 
about,” replied the colonel in an evasive way. “Thar may 
be sich as that goin’ on.” 

Bidding the slave-dealer good-morning our detective re- 
sumed his walk, with one more link, as he thought, added to 
his chain which he was forging for the slave-stealers. And 
when he had returned to his boarding-house and had con- 
sulted Mr. McLain upon the subject, he obtained informa- 
tictn concerning the habits and customs of slave-dealers 
which proved to be very valuable to him in the premises. 
His host informed him also that he would take a boat for 
Memphis the next day and would be gone about two weeks, 
and that if he should discover anything that would throw 
light upon the matter he would communicate it as soon as 
possible. 

Mr. McLain owned a few slaves, but, as he said, had never 
bought one of a slave-trader, except the cook he then 
owned, who had begged him to buy her for fear of fall- 
ing into the hands of a cruel master. He was very kind to 
his slaves, and they in turn were very grateful to him. 

It was now the first part of August, and William Hoi- 


FOEESTFIELD 


93 


combe and his bride had returned from their bridal tour, 
and according to a promise made to the brother of Flora 
McLain that they would write to his family concerning her 
tragic death, they had fulfilled their obligation, and Miss 
Clara McLain had just received the letter of condolence. 

Having learned that her correspondents were brother 
and sister to her guest, Jesse Holcombe, she thought it not 
improper to show him the letter, as he had never heard the 
particulars of the sad accident save what he read in the 
papers. So as the two were sitting upon the veranda alone 
one afternoon. Miss Clara handed Mr. Holcombe the letter, 
which he read with much melancholy interest. 

^^Your brother and sister were exceedingly kind to 
Charles and Flora in their trouble,’’ she said, commenting 
upon the epistle, ^^and to have written such a comforting 
letter places us under renewed obligations to them. The 
locket which my sister gave Mrs. Holcombe as a dying tes- 
timonial of her gratitude,” she continued, “I gave her just 
before she left home for the last time. But I do not be- 
grudge your sister’s having it, for it showed the high appre- 
ciation that Flora had for her friend of so short acquaint- 
ance.” 

“Yes,” replied the young man, “my sister-in-law is a 
very superior woman, and one might have expected her to 
act just as she did. She is very sympathetic and never loses 
an opportunity to help those in distress.” 

“We all certainly appreciate her kindness toward us, as 
well as that of your brother,” rejoined the young lady, as a 
tear ran down her cheek; “and we shall never forget them.” 

Jesse Holcombe had now been at Mr. McLain’s about a 
month, and without waiting to eat salt with the unmar- 
ried daughter of the household for half a year he had 
become smitten in less than one-sixth of the usual time. 
He had not confined his detective work to the apprehension 


94 


FOEESTFIELD 


of the slave-stealers, but had devoted a portion of his time 
and talents toward apprehending the feelings of a heart- 
stealer. And through many a labyrinth of mystery had he 
pursued the fair fugitive, but with as little success, he 
thought, as had attended the chase of the ruffians, though 
sometimes he thought he could detect evidences of her 
whereabouts and congratulated himself that he had added 
another link to the golden chain of love. 

Toward the close of that summer day, as the air grew 
cooler, the couple took a stroll down to the lawn gate, near 
which stood a rustic bench upon which they took seats. 
And after conversing for awhile upon common themes their 
minds turned involuntarily toward a more interesting sub- 
ject and then coalesced upon the topic of love and mar- 
riage. From the situation and the character of the parties 
there could hardly have been any other result. Does not the 
flower look up to greet the sun in response to the smile of 
his light ? 

Though grief had been the burden of Clara McLain’s 
heart for some time, it did not exclude those kindred feel- 
ings of affection that harmonize so well with the elements 
of sanctified sorrow. As the dark and revolutionary rush of 
the storm across the firmament purifies the air and makes 
the blue skies more tender when it is gone, so the gloom of 
sorrow, when it has passed over a loving heart, leaves a ripe 
and mellow feeling of affection that responds to everything 
that is worthy. And one need not be surprised that the 
coming of J esse Holcombe into the intimate purview of the 
young woman’s life at that particular period should cause 
her to look upon him with tender admiration. Here sorrow 
sanctified affection and affection sanctified sorrow. 

“It is a strange thing, Mr. Holcombe,” remarked Miss 
Clara soon after they were seated, “that there should be 
pleasure in grief. But ever since the first shock of Flora’s 


FORESTFIELD 


95 


death had subsided I have been strangely happy. Of course 
you may not appreciate what I say, but it is certainly true.’’ 

“I appreciate the sincerity of what you say,” replied the 
young man; “but I certainly do not comprehend your 
meaning, as I have had no such experience myself.” 

“Well, it seems that the death of my sister has opened up 
new avenues, as it were, leading into my better nature, and 
I find myself unable to dislike any one, while I feel more 
kindly disposed tovrard others than ever before. But why 
it is so I do not know.” 

“Perhaps it is not grief that makes you so kindly. Miss 
Clara,” suggested Mr. Holcombe, “but the native goodness 
of your heart.” 

“Oh, no; don’t flatter me. The native goodness of my 
heart was never reliable. My experience has been just as T 
tell you.” 

Our young detective of the heart, as well as of criminals, 
wishing to take advantage of such favorable confessions, 
ventured to remark: “I trust you will feel kindly toward 
me. Miss Clara, and give an affirmative answer to the ques- 
tion I asked you the other day.” But he immediately re- 
gretted what he had said, fearing that he had intruded upon 
holy ground. 

“You need not be so anxious about that question,” she 
replied; “it will keep. Besides, you’ll get an answer some 
of these long summer days.” 

“That means before I leave here in September, then,” 
he suggested. 

“You shouldn’t be too definite,” she said; “I’ll manage 
that.” 

“But you haven’t many more summer days at your dis- 
posal,” he urged; “so you had better improve the time.” 

“You’d better improve the time !” she repeated with some 
sarcasm. “Do you really believe that I would improve my 


96 FORESTFIELD 

time, Mr. Holcombe, in answering yonr question ? Men are 
so presumptuous.’’ 

“I mean you’d be improving your time for my sake — 
that is if you should answer it in the affirmative.” 

‘H’ll tell you what I’ll do,” she remarked, as she noticed 
a beautiful brown butterfly approaching them through the 
sunshine. 

^^Well, what is that?” he eagerly asked. 

^Hf that butterfly yonder alights upon more white than 
red hollyhock blooms my answer shall be 'yes but if to the 
contrary, 'no.’ Will you accept that?” 

"Yes; if I can do no better. But who shall do the count- 
ing?” 

"I, of course,” she replied. 

"W'ell, you’d better begin,” he urged; "there goes one 
white bloom.” 

"And there’s two,” she added. "And there’s three for 
the white ; and there’s one for the red ; four for the white ; 
the red, two; the red, three; the red, four; the red, five; 
the white, five ; the red, six ; the red, seven ; the white, six ; 
the red, eight; the white, seven; the white, eight; the white 
— no, he’s gone, and it’s a tie !” and she looked at her suitor 
inquisitively. 

"But see, the butterfly is coming back. Will you give 
me another chance ?” he asked excitedly. 

"Certainly.” 

The butterfly returned, alighted upon a white blossom, 
then rose into the air and was soon out of sight. And as it 
moved languidly along through the sultry sunshine the 
fortunate suitor exclaimed: "A thousand blessings upon 
that butterfly ! But do you mean it. Miss Clara ?” 

"I certainly do.” 

Even after the decision by this beautiful conceit and a 
confirmation of the fair one who proposed it Jesse Hoi- 


FORESTFIELD 


97 


combe still doubted the good fortune that had come to him, 
and he inquired again : “Is that really your decision. Miss 
Clara?'' 

“Why of course it is," she replied with spirit, as if she 
felt hurt by the young man's unbelief. “Though, if you 
doubt it I have nothing more to say." 

“I beg your pardon a thousand times. Miss Clara; I did 
not mean to doubt you," was the hasty apology. 

Still he did doubt, because there is so much of the un- 
candid in the affairs of the heart. And he was slow to ad- 
mit an exception to the rule. Alas for the trouble that 
custom brings to its votaries ! We often doubt the ingenu- 
ous and sincere because we judge them through the mist 
gathered about us by the equivocal and deceitful. 

“I’ll forgive you this time, Mr. Holcombe, but I " 

and a pleading look of mingled compassion and hope com- 
pleted the sentence. 

“You are very kind. Miss Clara," responded Mr. Hol- 
combe; “but I feel that I am hardly worthy of your kind- 
ness and forgiveness and much less of the confidence you 
impose in me as implied in your affirmative answer. But 
I shall doubt you no more." And there was a tremulous 
but hearty clasp of hands and the transaction was sealed. 

“There seems to be a storm rising in the northwest, Mr. 
Holcombe," said Miss Clara, as she arose and looked in that 
direction; “and I think we had better go to the house be- 
fore it arrives." 

“I rather think the cloud is moving around toward the 
south and will not reach here," he objected. “And you 
will excuse me for insisting on remaining here where it is 
so pleasant. Besides, I think we are going to have a mag- 
nificent sunset." 

“Just as you like," was the submissive response. 

Just then there was a vivid flash of lightning, followed 


98 


FORESTFIELD 


by a heavy detonation of thunder that seemed to shake the 
earth and then pass away in lessening reverberations beyond 
the hills. The smooth surface of the distant rain, like a 
leaden wall, connected with the rough edges of the driving 
cloud, rose gradually above the horizon and appeared as if it 
would sweep the entire country. A refreshing coolness that 
brought the moist odor of the rain across the woods and 
fields came on with the deepening shadows and saturated 
the parched air. Man and beast and fowl all looked up 
toward the heavens with gratitude for the delightful 
change. 

Suddenly the cloud veered to the left and began to move 
southward, the thunderclaps became less frequent and 
heavy, the solid wall of rain was converted into a thin veil, 
the clouds grew lighter and lifted themselves to a higher re- 
gion, and the bright rays of the sun burst in a halo of glory 
upon the earth ; and the giant storm-cloud that had threat- 
ened to shake the forests and to drench the fields had been 
shorn of its strength. 

Under the wonderful and rapid transformations of na- 
ture the heavens now put off their harsh and somber hues 
and began to put on the brilliant and the gay. And in a 
short while there appeared one of the most splendid sunsets 
that had ever attracted the attention of the happy lovers. 
It seemed to have come upon them as a heavenly benedic- 
tion and as an endorsement of the recent blissful consum- 
mation. And hand in hand the happy couple stood and 
gazed with wonder and delight upon its supernal beauty 
and glory until the last tint faded into the falling twilight. 

From the north-point to the zenith and from the zenith 
to the south-point, and resting upon the western horizon, 
as if reaching half around the world, lay a cloud of deepest 
purple, which served as a background to the picture. Its 
color was so rich and soft that it would have been vain for 


FORESTPIELB 99 

any painter to have attempted to spread its imitation upon 
canvas. 

Straight toward the setting sun, where a few of his 
golden rays had pierced the breaking clouds, a vista opened 
up distant and wide and bright, whose floor looked like unto 
the burnished streets of the City of God. There were no 
angels walking there, but it seemed as if they had just 
passed by. 

Just above this heavenly vista and along some gentle 
mountain slope there were herded, as it were, ten thousand 
sheep, whose golden fleeces were richer far than those which 
Jason sought in the Argonautic story. There they seemed 
to lie down in fresh pastures and beside still waters. 

Down in the southwest and very far away (as always 
seems that which is restful and that belongeth unto peace) 
was a range of pure white clouds like unto distant moun- 
tains, so pure that a moonbeam might have contaminated 
them and so attenuated that the wing of a butterfly might 
have fanned them into nothingness. 

At last the colors, one by one, faded away, the dying 
clouds moved slowly toward the south, and it seemed that 
“in their very motion there was rest.^’ The sun went down 
behind the hills, the tender twilight lowered to take his 
place; then fell the darkness of night, and the heavenly 
vision had disappeared forever. 

As the lovers returned to the house there was in their 
hearts a medley of sentiments striving for the mastery : the 
pathos of sorrow, the devotion of love and the admiration of 
the beautiful. 

L.ofC. 


100 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTER XL 

A MINISTRY OF MERCY. 

O NE morning as Jesse Holcombe and Clara McLain 
were taking a walk through the forest near the 
McLain residence they suddenly came upon a cov- 
ered wagon standing under a tree, and grazing near by were 
two very poor horses with harness on. Upon approaching 
the wagon it was found that within it and upon a straw 
bed there lay a man who appeared to be in the last 
stages of consumption and who was being attended by a 
woman who seemed to be almost as ill as the man. The 
features of the woman indicated that she was a full-blooded 
Indian. Standing near a fire, over which she was preparing 
a scanty meal, was a well-grown girl apparently about four- 
teen years of age, and whose features indicated her to be 
a half-breed Indian. Under the wagon lay a little dog that 
seemed as needy as the horses and the people. 

As the couple approached the forlorn group and real- 
ized the extent of their misery their hearts were touched 
with compassion and they began to inquire more about the 
strangers that they might make arrangements for their 
relief. 

“You seem to have been traveling under difficulties, 
madam,” said Jesse Holcombe as he approached the woman, 
who was just giving the man a drink of water from a tin 
cup. 

“Yes, sir; and we’ve had a hard time of it. My man’s 


FORESTFIELD 


101 


been sick a long time and I ain’t much better myself.” And 
her language showed that she had had the advantages of 
intimate association with the white race. 

‘^How far have you traveled and how long have you been 
on the road?” asked Mr. Holcombe. 

“We’ve come from the Indian nation and we’ve been on 
the road over three months; and he sick nearly all the 
time.” 

“To what place are you going?” 

“We’re trying to make our way back to Alabama, where 
our tribe used to live a long time ago.” 

“To what tribe did you belong?” 

“To the Cherokees.” 

^^ell, I’m sorry; but you will hardly reach Alabama in 
your present condition,” remarked Mr. Holcombe with feel- 
ing. 

During these inquiries the little Indian girl continued 
her work of preparing the meal, but would turn her head in 
the direction of the wagon and listen to what was being 
said. She was of a tall and erect figure and had a rather 
pretty face and was more graceful in manner than might 
be expected of Indian extraction. The woman seemed very 
frail and careworn, while the man appeared as if he could 
not bear his sufferings much longer. They constituted a 
family of three. 

Before leaving Mr. Holcombe told the woman that he 
would return home and see if he could procure a house for 
them, after which he would have them removed from the 
camp and furnish them with food, clothing and medicine. 

“I am so sorry for those people,” said Miss Clara, as the 
couple were returning home, “and I think they should be 
assisted immediately or I fear it will be too late for the 
man. I know father will do all he can for them.” 

“Yes; I don’t think there will be any difficulty in getting 


102 


FORESTFIELD 


help for them when their condition is reported to the neigh- 
bors/^ retorted Mr. Holcombe. 

When the case was reported to Mr. McLain he at once 
accompanied Mr. Holcombe to the camp and had the un- 
fortunate family removed to a vacant house in his yard 
and made them comfortable. The horses were put in the 
stable and fed, and not even the little dog was forgotten, 
while a physician was sent for to attend the sick. But the 
man, despite the doctor’s skill and attention, died that 
night, and the next day was decently buried by the neigh- 
bors. The woman, however, seemed at first to improve 
under the doctor’s care and became as cheerful as could be 
expected under the circumstances. 

When the little Indian girl, whose name was Wenona, 
had been dressed up in the apparel of Miss Clara, which 
she had outgrown, she appeared quite presentable. Her fine 
figure, olive complexion, black hair and dark eyes all con- 
spired to the advantage of her personal appearance. And 
with the additional charm of her naturally graceful man- 
ners, which had not been entirely neglected, she soon be- 
came the object of admiration and affection of the whole 
household. Especially was there an affinity between her 
and Miss Clara. 

The man, who was in a stupor when discovered by Mr. 
Holcombe, never recovered sufficient consciousness before he 
died to communicate with any one. He seemed to be a man 
of about fifty years of age, and who had suffered much 
hardship. His garb indicated that he had been familiar 
with savage life, and the presence of the Indian woman 
served to establish the fact. 

The poor woman, who seemed to rally from her illness at 
first, soon relapsed and after lingering for a week or more 
she passed away. Unlike her husband, she was conscious to 
the end and was able, under the encouragement of ques- 


FORESTFIELB 


103 


tions, to give a succinct history of the family. And when 
Miss Clara McLain visited her upon the day she died the 
following interview ensued: 

“My dear woman/’ said Miss Clara, “I fear you have 
not long to live, but I trust you are prepared for the great 
change.” 

“Oh, yes; I know that,” she replied in a calm and con- 
fident tone, “and I feel that I’m ready to go at any time. 
It was the good woman, Jane, who told my people of the 
Great Spirit and of the happy hunting grounds.” 

“Who w’as the good woman, Jane?” asked Miss Clara, 
becoming much interested in the reference. 

“She was my husband’s mother, and she lived with my 
people, the Cherokees, a long time and told them about 
heaven.” 

“What w^as your husband’s name?” 

“My husband — ^his name was John, but they called him 
Big Bear — he was once so big and strong. His father was 
the Gray Eagle, but his pale-face name was Kichard.” 

“Well, how came it that Eichard and the good woman, 
Jane, were among your people?” 

“If you will listen I will tell you,” replied the dying 
woman, as she sighed deeply and closed her eyes in thought. 
“Many moons ago Eichard and the good woman, Jane, were 
taken by some bad Indians and carried away from their 
home far into the mountains; and Eichard liked the chase 
and the war-path so well he went off soon afterward and 
left the good woman, Jane, and her little boy, John, my 
husband, with my people, and he never came back any 
more. 

“Then the good woman, Jane, came to live in the wig- 
wam with my father and mother. My father was called 
Good Dog. That was many moons ago when I was a little 
girl and John was a little boy. Then we played together 


104 


FORESTFIELD 


in the dark forests, hunted for chestnuts, chased the rabbits 
and waded in the water. And when we got older I became 
John’s squaw and he became my husband and then we 
were happy. John was a good husband and loved his In- 
dian wife, Ossaloola, with all his heart.” As she said this 
the tears began to flow down her brown and sunken cheeks. 
But after a short pause she went on : 

^^When the good woman, Jane, came to my people she 
brought a little book, and she used to call us together under 
a tree and read out of the little book and talk to us about 
being good and about heaven. And my father. Good Dog, 
was pleased with what he heard out of the book and what 
the good woman, J ane, said to his people. And sometimes 
he would stand and raise his tomahawk in the air and say : 
‘Nobody shall hurt the good woman, J ane, for she has told 
us of the Great Spirit and of heaven! My wigwam shall 
be her home as long as she wishes to live among my people 1’ 

“Soon the good woman, Jane, died, and Good Dog 
-buried her among the mountains. And he put all her 
pretty beads and rings in the grave with her and rolled a 
great rock upon it. And when she was buried many of my 
people came to the grave and mourned. 

“And when the palefaces said to my people, ‘You must 
go toward the setting sun and find a new home,’ Good Dog 
grieved that he must leave the bones of the good woman, 
Jane, among the mountains, and he said: ‘We’ll roll away 
the big rock from the grave and will dig up her bones and 
we’ll go and bury them near the white man’s cabin.’ And 
so Good Dog took up her bones, with the beads and the 
rings, and buried them among her own people. And then 
my people went away to the west. 

“When we went to the west John and I were little chil- 
dren, and John grieved because he had to leave his mother’s 
grave. And for many days he wept for his mother and I 


FORESTFIELD 


105 


wept with him. But J ohn had his mother’s little book, and 
he used to read to us around the campfire at night about 
the many mansions. I have the little book in my box there 
now.” Then she said: ^^Wenona, get the little book and 
show it to the good lady.” 

Wenona opened an old greasy box and took out a small 
copy of the New Testament much worn by long usage and 
handed it to Miss Clara. When the young lady examined it 
she found some dim lettering upon the fiy-leaf which she 
could not at first decipher. But upon a closer examination 
she made out three capital letters standing some distance 
apart, as if they were the initials of a name. The letters 
were thought to be “ J. T. G.,” with smaller letters succeed- 
ing each capital which could not be distinguished. She 
thought that she could make out the name, Jane. And 
there was the date, ^^1798.” As the binding of the book 
was of leather and the paper of good quality, the book was 
remarkably well preserved. 

^^My good lady,” said the dying woman, “please read in 
the little book for me about the many mansions. I feel 
that I shall not have a home in this world very much 
longer, and I wish to hear about the many mansions in 
heaven where I hope to go.” 

Opening the Testament at the fourteenth chapter of St. 
John Miss Clara read: “Let not your heart be troubled; 
ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house 
are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told 
you, I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and pre- 
pare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you 
unto myself ; that where I am, there ye may be also.” 

At the close of these words the patient turned her dark 
eyes upward and appeared as if she were looking at some- 
thing very far away. Then there spread over her counte- 
nance a heavenly smile that seemed to transfigure every 


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feature into a supernatural aspect. And raising her ema- 
ciated hand and pointing upward, she said softly: “I see 
the many mansions.^’ And rather unexpected to the watch- 
ers the gentle spirit of that homeless wanderer fled away as 
a bird released from its cage and found a home in our 
Father’s house above. 

‘^Wenona/’ said Miss Clara, softly, ‘‘your mother is dead. 
But come to me and you shall have a home and a friend 
as long as I live.” Wenona came and knelt at the side of 
her new-found friend, bowed her head upon her lap and 
wept. 

Soon everything left by the forlorn travelers except a few 
keepsakes was disposed of, and Wenona and her little dog 
were taken into Mr. McLain’s family, where they were 
heartily welcomed by all. 


FORESTFIELD 


107 


CHAPTEE XII. 

THE FUGITIVES IN SIGHT. 

A FEW days after J esse Holcombe and Clara McLain 
consummated their engagement there was a steam- 
boat excursion up the Mississippi, going in the 
afternoon and returning by moonlight, upon which Mr. 
Holcombe, Miss Clara and Charles McLain took passage. 
The afternoon was very pleasant, there being just enough 
clouds to temper the glare of the sun, and a cool breeze was 
blowing from the west. The excursionists could therefore 
sit upon deck without inconvenience and enjoy the scenery 
along the banks of the river. 

Although it did not appear compatible with Miss Clara’s 
or her brother’s state of mind to participate in the more 
frivolous amusements of society, such as a steamboat ex- 
cursion, yet for the sake of the change of circumstances and 
for the entertainment of their guest, they decided to go. 

On the passage up the river Mr. Holcombe was intro- 
duced to a number of agreeable people, and by the time the 
boat reached its destination he had almost become a popular 
favorite. Indeed, Miss Clara found it difficult to conceal 
her jealousy and almost wished she had not come on the 
excursion. 

The boat having arrived at its return point, a small town 
about thirty miles above Vicksburg, it made a landing and 
remained there sufficient time for the excursionists to take 
supper on board. An elegant feast was served, including 
wine; but when Miss Clara saw that Mr. Holcombe refused 
to take wine she was much gratified. And when the danq- 


108 


FOEESTFIELD 


ing commenced on the return trip and her betrothed refused 
to indulge, her satisfaction was doubly increased. During 
the dancing she, Mr. Holcombe and her brother, and a num- 
ber of others who did not indulge, sat out upon the deck in 
the moonlight and enjoyed the cool breezes, studying the 
heavenly bodies and, perhaps, studying also the science of 
the heart. 

During the time the boat lay at the landing a man in a 
drunken condition came down from the town and in a very 
boisterous manner walked the gangplank and came aboard, 
and as drunken men usually do, readily gave expression to 
what was uppermost in his mind. In a very loud and brag- 
gadocio style he exclaimed: ^H’m from Alabama, and I 
can whip any man on this boat that denies it. I’ve got the 
finest span of horses in the State of Mississippi, and don’t 
you deny it. They’re worth five hundred dollars !” 

For the rowdy to say that he was from Alabama was 
rather embarrassing to Jesse Holcombe, though he dis- 
claimed all knowledge of him. 

^T’ve got two of the finest buck niggers to sell that was 
ever bought in Vicksburg,” the man continued. “They’re 
worth fifteen hundred dollars apiece. I’ll take three thou- 
sand five hundred dollars for the two niggers and the two 
horses, and I won’t take a cent less.” And taking off his hat 
he waved it over his head and exclaimed: “Hoorah for Ala- 
bam’ and old Mississip’ !” 

About this time the marshal of the town came aboard, 
arrested the man and carried him off. 

While the disagreeable incident was of no particular 
significance to the excursionists, and soon to be forgotten, 
it was full of meaning to Jesse Holcombe, who carefully 
pondered it in his mind. 

But just before the boat left the landing for the return 
trip, Jesse Holcombe discovered another man coming on 


FORESTFIELD 


109 


board whom he thought he recognized even while on the 
gangplank, and the nearer he approached the more sure 
he was of the recognition. But when the man approached 
the clerk of the boat to make arrangements to take passage 
for Vicksburg and stood under a bright light, Mr. Hol- 
combe became satisfied that he was Dr. Northcut, from his 
own neighborhood in Alabama. This was an agreeable sur- 
prise and excusing himself from the company he went up 
to the doctor and spoke to him. 

^^Why, Jesse, I didn’t expect to meet you down here,” re- 
marked the doctor, “and if it is a fair question, I should 
like to know what brought you so far away from home.” 

“ Some one stole Mrs. Pemrose’s carriage driver, and also 
her carriage and horses, and I am in search of them.” 
And upon the request of the doctor he went on to relate all 
the particulars, but cautioned him not to say anything 
about it lest he might frustrate his plans. 

“I am sorry to hear that, Jesse,” replied the doctor, “and 
if I can help you in any way I shall be glad to do so. Have 
you just come aboard?” 

“Oh, no,” answered the young man. “I’m on an excur- 
sion from Vicksburg, where I have been staying keeping an 
eye on the slave-market.” 

“Oh, well, I’m going down to Vicksburg myself. I have 
been called there to see an old friend who is afflicted with 
a chronic disease for the cure of which I claim to be a spe- 
cialist.” 

“ Come, doctor, let me introduce you to some of my new- 
made friends. I think you will like them,” suggested the 
young man. 

“Thank you; I shall be glad to meet them,” replied the 
doctor, as he followed his young friend upon deck. 

The doctor, having been introduced, soon became the 
life of the company, as he was a very agreeable conver- 


110 


FOEESTFIELD 


sationalist. And all the way down the river there was 
scarcely a lull in the bright talk and hearty laughter upon 
that part of the boat, and it was attributed mostly to the 
presence of the doctor. 

Dr. Northcut was a physician of about sixty years of age, 
who had gradually fallen out of the practice of medicine, 
not because of the lack of proficiency in his profession, but 
because of devoting his attention to other pursuits. Still, 
he practiced sufficiently to retain his title, at least, while he 
made a living for his family in other and divers ways. He 
was an intelligent man, generally well informed, and ap- 
parently stood well in his community. 

But there was one suspicious habit which the doctor had 
that no one was able to explain, and which was not consist- 
ent with an open, manly and conscientious life. He was in 
the habit of leaving home three or four times a year and 
being absent for several weeks at a time. It was said that 
he never told even his family where he was going, or 
if he did they always professed to be ignorant of it, al- 
though he would endeavor to make the impression that he 
was going to visit a patient at some distance, as he had done 
when he met Jesse Holcombe on the boat. 

The steamer sped along on the silvery waves on the re- 
turn trip to the sound of music and dancing, and soon drew 
up to the landing at Vicksburg. The excursionists went 
ashore and repaired to their respective homes, all express- 
ing themselves as having had a pleasant time. And upon 
leaving the boat Charles McLain invited Dr. Northeut to 
go with him and spend the night at his father’s house, for 
the sake of his friend, Jesse Holcombe. But the doctor 
declined with thanks and went to the nearest tavern. 

When our party reached home and Mr. Holcombe bade 
Miss Clara good-night and she returned the courtesy, wish- 
ing him pleasant dreams, he replied: Thank you; if my 


FOKESTFIELD 


111 


dreams should duplicate the scenes and pleasures of the ex- 
cursion I shall be satisfied/’ 

On the following day Jesse Holcombe went to the sheriff 
and communicated to him an account of the drunken man 
from Alabama. And by putting together the incoherent 
remarks of the man, he showed the officer how they fitted 
into the case he was investigating. The latter agreed to 
take the information under careful consideration and to 
await developments, promising to help the young detective. 

When Mr. McLain had returned from Memphis he re- 
ported that he had seen while there a man exhibiting a pair 
of very fine clay-bank horses which he recommended for the 
carriage. But whether he succeeded in selling them or 
not he did not know. This evidence seemed to throw some 
light upon the case, and it encouraged Jesse Holcombe to 
press his search with more energy and confidence. The 
drunken man had declared incautiously that he was from 
Alabama, that he had two negroes for sale, and that he had 
two horses, the finest ever brought to Mississippi, all of 
which coincided with the circumstances under consider- 
ation. 

Hot long after this, when Jesse Holcombe was passing 
the slave-market again, he saw a man go into the office of 
the manager whom he recognized as the drunken Ala- 
bamian he had seen on the boat excursion. For he had 
scrutinized the man’s features very closely under a bright 
light when he heard him say that he was from Alabama, 
and he thought that he could not be mistaken. Besides, he 
felt as if the man’s features were familiar to him, though he 
could not recall his exact identity or his name. 

To have entered the office immediately after the sus- 
pected man would have been hazardous to the cause at 
stake, because if the suspect had recognized the detective 
in any degree he would have probably suspected his object 


112 


FOEESTFIELD 


and escaped. So Mr. Holcombe passed on and went to the 
sheriff’s office and reported what he had seen, upon which 
information the sheriff suggested that they go quietly and 
look up the property which they supposed the suspect had 
for sale, peradventure Mr. Holcombe might recognize it 
and thus conclusively clinch the evidence. 

Upon going to the tavern where the negro-traders gener- 
ally put up they found that there were a number of slaves 
under guard awaiting the auction-block upon which they 
would probably be sold in a few days. But for fear that 
Jim, of whom Mr. Holcombe was in search, might recog- 
nize him and thereby produce a scene that would frustrate 
the whole plan, the latter would not approach the group of 
slaves huddled in a side room, but requested the sheriff 
to go in and investigate upon his description. The latter 
entered the slave-pen, and when he returned reported that 
he thought the negro Jim was in there. Upon examining 
the register of the tavern this entry was found: ‘‘Bill Ash- 
craft and Sam Nolen and two slaves, Alabama.’^ 

It was then decided to make a tour of the livery stables 
and see if they could discover and recognize the “clay-bank 
horses’’ of which the drunken Alabamian had boasted. And 
upon reaching the second stable in their search they found 
two horses which Jesse Holcombe thought resembled the 
carriage horses of Mrs. Pemrose, and which the liveryman 
said had been left there by two men from Alabama. He 
was not certain they were the horses sought for, and he 
concluded that the evidence of the driver, Jim, would be 
necessary to confirm the suspicion. 

After consultation with Mr. McLain, who was a lawyer, 
Mr. Holcombe and the sheriff decided to wait a few days, 
when the slaves would probably be placed upon the block 
and sold. And the plan was for Mr. Holcombe to bid on 
Jim and run him up until he was knocked off at his bid. 


rORESTFIELD 


113 


and thus secure an opportunity to talk with him and in- 
quire into the circumstances of his capture, and to secure 
sufficient evidence to authorize the arrest of the kidnappers. 

Having made complete arrangements for the execution 
of the above plan Jesse Holcombe was returning, near the 
close of the day, to his boarding-house, when he met Dr. 
Horthcut upon the street. He had not seen him since he 
parted with him upon the night of the excursion. 

‘^How are you getting along with your detective work 
Jesse?” asked the doctor, when the usual courtesies had 
been passed. 

‘^Very well, doctor,” replied Mr. Holcombe with confi- 
dence. “I think we have the rogues in a corner.” 

^^Well, now, let me give you some advice, young man,” re- 
marked the doctor in a cautious tone; those rogues are too 
sharp to be caught, and they will certainly give you the 
slip. And I would advise you not to be too confident. 
These officers here will only run up a large bill of expense 
on you and accomplish nothing. You had better abandon 
your search, I think.” 

“But, doctor,” replied the young man, somewhat sur- 
prised, “we have already discovered Jim at one of the tav- 
erns and the horses at a livery stable, and we are merely 
waiting for the proper time to capture the rogues.” 

“Well, if that be the case,” the doctor agreed, “I must 
admit that you have some ground for your confidence. But 
I’ll tell you what I heard a slave-dealer say at the tavern 
yesterday, and you can take it for what it is worth. He 
said that he had concluded not to attempt to sell his slaves 
here, but would take them down to New Orleans. And he 
intimated that he would start last night, and I suppose he 
is now on his way. So you had better take the boat to-night 
for New Orleans yourself and get there before he makes a 
sale. That would be my course, though I have nothing to 


FOKESTFIELD 


lU 

do with the matter.” This loss of interest in the case by the 
doctor, who had promised to help him, was rather surpris- 
ing to the young detective. 

thank you, doctor, for your advice,” replied Mr. Hol- 
combe; “but perhaps I had better go and ascertain first 
whether or not Jim has been removed from the tavern.” 

“Yes, you might do that,” the doctor agreed hesitatingly. 

“But if you will go with me, doctor, I shall be much 
obliged to you.” 

“I am sorry, but you must excuse me. I am compelled 
to visit my patient this evening and can’t possibly go. Per- 
haps if you go alone,” the doctor suggested, “you will not 
excite so much suspicion, provided the slave-dealers are still 
at the tavern. But good-day, Jesse, I must be going.” 

“Good-day, doctor,” replied the young man as he turned 
and started for the tavern very much discouraged by what 
his friend had said. And when he arrived there he found 
that the slave-dealers had really gone. What to do next 
he hardly knew. But after thinking the matter over he 
decided to report what he had learned to the sheriff and ask 
his advice. And immediately he called upon that officer. 

“Well, Mr. Sheriff,” said the young detective, “our game 
has escaped from the net. I am just from the tavern where 
we discovered Jim and he is not there, nor are his captors. 
I was told that they had left last night for New Orleans. 
What shall I do now?” 

The sheriff bowed his head in his hands for a few mo- 
ments in silence and then said: “Those fellows have sus- 
pected that some one is on their trail and they are trying a 
ruse. They have not left for New Orleans. I have dealt 
with such characters before and understand them pretty 
well. And if you will do what I say I’ll warrant you that 
we shall have them in the jail before to-morrow night. 
You know to-morrow is auction day.’^ 


FOEESTFIELD 


115 


at your service, Mr. Sheriff,” said Mr. Holcombe. 

‘^You go to-night,” continued the officer, ^^and take the 
eight o’clock boat, as if you were going to Hew Orleans, 
but when you arrive at the next landing below here about 
ten miles, go ashore and return to the city before daylight 
and conceal yourself until the auction hour, which will be 
at noon.” 

‘^But I’m a total stranger in this part of the country,” 
objected Mr. Holcombe, “and should not like to go alone. 
Can’t you procure me a guide ?” 

“Certainly; I will send my deputy, Mr. Ward, with you.” 

“Thank you.” 

The sheriff called his deputy, who was in the next room, 
gave Mm his instructions, and the two detectives started 
upon their errand. Passing near Mr. McLain’s, they 
stopped and informed him confidentially of their plans, ate 
supper and went down to the boat landing. The two men 
boarded the boat and were soon on their way down the 
river. 

In the mean time, as the sheriff had conjectured, the 
slave-stealers who had pretended that they had gone to Hew 
Orleans had repaired to the landing before eight o’clock 
to see if the detectives would follow their pretended depart- 
ure, where they witnessed the embarkation of Mr. Hol- 
combe and the deputy. But to the great surprise of the 
former he caught a glimpse of Dr. Horthcut dodging about 
the landing as if watching his movements. And after 
getting aboard of the boat and having related all the par- 
ticulars of the case to the deputy, he concluded with the 
help of the latter that the doctor must be an accomplice of 
the slave-stealers. Before daybreak next morning Mr. Hol- 
combe was in bed at his boarding-house in Vicksburg fast 
asleep. 


116 


FORESTFIELD 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ON THE BLOCK. 

W HEN the slave-auction opened the next day at 
noon Mr. Holcombe and Deputy Ward were on 
hand, but standing so much in the background 
that no one would suspect their business. But arrange- 
ments had been made with Mr. McLain to do the bidding 
for Jesse Holcombe, and to run Jim up to so high a price as 
would certainly purchase him. 

At last the clanging of the auctioneer’s bell was heard, 
to the sound of which so much human flesh had been sold 
and so many simple hearts had been broken, and in response 
to which the eager crowd gathered about the block either 
to bid upon the human chattels to be exhibited thereon 
or to listen idly to the bidding of others. 

The flrst subjects of the auctioneer’s hammer were a 
family of seven : father and mother and flve children. And 
to exhibit them to advantage, as a stock-dealer would array 
his animals for sale, they were made to stand in a row, with 
the father at the head, followed by the mother, and then 
the children in the order of their ages or sizes, as one would 
say, in ‘‘stairsteps style.” To look upon that family of 
human beings, subject to be sold to a cruel master and to 
be carried far away from the familiar scenes of their birth- 
place and youth was a spectacle for heartaches and for 
tears. But fortunately they were bought by a good master 
who lived in the neighborhood from which the slave family 
had come. 


FORESTFIELD 


117 


The next chattel placed upon the block was poor Jim, 
the carriage driver, who fully expected to be sold into 
strange and cruel hands and far away from his home and 
people. And despite the efforts of his captors to put him in 
proper trim for the auction he had a dejected look and 
appeared as if he stood under the suspended gallows. And 
with his thoughts fixed upon his wife and children and his 
kind “white folks^’ in his native Alabama, with the happy 
scenes about his cabin door in other days dancing about 
his vision, he had a far-away look in his eyes bedimmed 
by a profusion of tears, while his whole frame was shaken 
by the struggles of a rising sigh from the bottom of his 
heart that could not find relief. To the Mississippi Bot- 
toms, with their miasma and fever, their humid atmosphere 
and torrid sun and rank cotton fields, and perhaps to death, 
Jim felt that he was now certainly doomed. 

“Here’s a fellow, gentlemen,’^ cried the auctioneer as he 
placed his hand upon the slave, “forty years old, stout as a 
mule and as active as a cat ! Who’ll give me the first bid?’’ 

“Five hundred dollars !” cried a voice from the crowd. 

“Five hundred dollars !” repeated the auctioneer. “Five 
hundred dollars; who’ll say the six?” 

Another bidder nodded his head and the auctioneer cried 
out : “ Six hundred dollars ! Going at six hundred dollars ; 
who’ll say the seven?” 

“Seven hundred!” answered the first bidder. 

“Eight hundred !” exclaimed a third. 

“One thousand dollars !” said a rich young planter, with 
the gusto of intoxication. “He’s worth every cent of it.” 

“ One thousand I One thousand 1 One thousand dol- 
lars!” emphasized the crier. “What do you say, gentle- 
men? This is no Hottentot; he’s a brown skin and a fine 
carriage driver, fit to drive for the President of the United 
States !” 


118 


FOEESTFIELD 


^^Ef he can sprinkle sand into any of these gullies around 
Vicksburg without goin’ in, and can drive like Jehu ef he’s 
told to, by snakes! I’ll give you twelve hundred dollars 
fur him I” cried the first bidder, whom J esse Holcombe now 
recognized as the man he heard speaking to the conductor 
of the slave-market a few days before. 

“He can do that, I venture,^’ replied the crier. “Twelve 
hundred dollars ; who’ll say the thirteen ?” 

By slow bids of fifty dollars at a time the amount reached 
at last fifteen hundred dollars, a bid from the man who 
wanted a Jehu of a driver. Here the bidding stopped for 
a space, despite the urging of the crier, and he was about to 
knock Jim off to the last bidder when Mr. McLain cried 
out: “Sixteen hundred dollars 1^^ 

“Sixteen hundred dollars repeated the crier. “There’s 
somebody here that knows a bargain when he sees it ! Six- 
teen hundred dollars 1” 

At this juncture Bill Ashcraft and Sam Holen, who were 
standing near the block, looked at each other and smiled 
as best they could through their hardened countenances in 
anticipation of getting a fancy price for Jim. 

The auctioneer persisted in repeating the bid, but could 
get no one to raise it, as no one anticipated that the price 
would go beyond fifteen hundred dollars. Bringing the 
hammer down with force into the palm of his left hand, 
the crier exclaimed: Sixteen hundred dollars, once; six- 
teen hundred dollars, twice ; sixteen hundred dollars, 
thr-e-e — all done? — three — ^times! And sold to— -what’s 
the name?’^ 

“Jesse Holcombe,^^ replied Mr. McLain. 

As soon as the name of the purchaser was pronounced the 
second time, Jim looked around upon the crowd as if be- 
wildered with astonishment. And like a bird released from 
its cage, he leaped from the block into the midst of the 


^ORESTFIELD 


119 


crowd, and pushed his way among the people, inquiring at 
every step: “Whar is Marse Jesse? Whar is Marse 
Jesse?” And when he approached that portion of the 
throng where Mr. Holcombe was standing unobserved, the 
latter stepped forward to meet him; when Jim, recog- 
nizing his young neighbor and friend from Alabama, threw 
his arms about his neck and cried: ^^Dis is sho Marse 
Jesse Holcombe!” Then releasing his hold upon his bene- 
factor, he jumped about in the greatest ecstasy, clapping 
his hands and gazing straight into the face of his pur- 
chaser, and asked: “How is Polly an’ de chillun? How 
is mistis? How is Aunt Ca’line an’ Uncle Ned? and how 
is Marse Jabez, an’ all de folks?” And after a short pause, 
trying to fully realize his good fortune, he slapped his hand 
upon his thigh and exclaimed : “ Bless Gaud 1 ef dis ain’t 
Marse Jesse Holcombe 1” 

This scene, while very gratifying to the young detective, 
was at the same time rather embarrassing, and he made 
haste to pacify his colored friend by calling him aside 
and informing him that he was not yet saie from his cap- 
tors, which had a quieting effect upon Jim, who turned 
about and went back to the block. 

Whether the slave-stealers recognized Jesse Holcombe or 
not, they knew that he must have come from that section of 
country where they had kidnapped Jim, and that, in all 
likelihood, he was the detective that Dr. Northcut had re- 
ported to be upon their trail, and they showed plainly that 
they were uneasy. But for fear of exciting too much sus- 
picion they proceeded to put the other kidnapped slave 
upon the block as if nothing unusual had occurred. 

Eequesting permission of the conductor of the slave- 
market to have a private talk with Jim, Mr. Holcombe and 
Deputy Ward took him aside and learned of him all the 
particulars of his capture. And becoming satisfied that 


120 


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Bill Ashcraft and Sam Nolen were guilty of slave-stealing, 
the deputy sheriff as soon as the auction closed proceeded to 
arrest them upon an affidavit made out by Jesse Hol- 
combe, and they were soon placed behind the bolts and 
bars of the Vicksburg jail. The clay-bank horses at the 
stable were also taken charge of and all held until the 
proper authorities in Alabama could be communicated with, 
and a requisition for the removal of the prisoners could be 
secured from the Governor of Mississippi. 

No one could have been more surprised than were Bill 
Ashcraft and Sam Nolen when the negro Jim was knocked 
off to Jesse Holcombe, who they thought had departed 
for New Orleans the night before. And as for Dr. North- 
cut, who was no doubt watching the proceedings from a safe 
distance, he became so alarmed at the termination of the 
matter that he fled and could not be found. 

The next day, when the excitement had abated, Jesse 
Holcombe and the sheriff went to the jail to have a special 
interview with the prisoners, and after being told what Jim 
had said, and what the interviewers themselves knew about 
the case, both men confessed their guilt, because they at 
once realized the hopelessness of making a successful de- 
fense. And in the course of the interview they admitted 
that they knew Jesse Holcombe, while the latter discovered 
that he knew the prisoners, at least from reputation. He 
had frequently heard of Bill Ashcraft and Sam Nolen as 
belonging to John A. MurrelFs band of slave-stealers, and 
that they were among the shrewdest of the clan. But he 
had never thought of becoming the instrument of their 
detection and capture. 

The prisoners having made their confession, gave their 
interviewers to understand that they would at the proper 
time implicate Dr. Northcut in the crime, and advised the 
sheriff to keep an eye on him. They hoped that Mr. Hoi- 


FOEESTFIELD 


121 


combe would be as lenient with them as possible, for they 
certainly would never engage in such a business again. 
When asked if they knew where John A. Murrell was, they 
refused to say whether or not they knew of his whereabouts. 

When Jim visited the stable where Dapple and Nankeen 
were kept, he was almost as demonstrative over their re- 
covery as he was over his own. He hugged them about the 
neck, kissed them, rubbed them down from head to tail, 
and was not satisfied until he had gotten astride of each of 
them. The intelligent animals seemed to share in his great 
joy, and rubbed their soft noses against him, as if in recog- 
nition of his kindness. And with a hand upon the nose of 
each horse Jim delivered the following address: 

“Good old Dap and Nan, I thought sho we would never 
git back home aghn ! But we's all gwine back To’ long ! 
I’m gwine to see you nippin’ grass once mo’ in de paster 
by de gin-house. An’ I’m gwine to see you drinkin’ out in 
de spring branch, lak I used to do ! Won’t mistis be glad 
when we gits home ergin an’ she gits in de carriage an’ I 
gits on de box to drive ! Den you gwine ter see de wheels 
turn; an’ you mought as well say: good-by, chillun, ’kase 
we done gone!” 

Jim was permitted to board at Mr. McLain’s kitchen, 
near his benefactor, while he remained in Vicksburg, and 
was allowed the freedom of the town, as he was too much 
elated at his deliverance to misbehave. But he would never 
be satisfied until he had the privilege of driving the horses 
to a carriage with Mr. Holcombe and Miss Clara within, 
which desire was frequently gratified. 


122 


FORESTFIELD 


CHAPTER XIV. 

HOMEWARD BOUND WITH THE PRISONERS. 

O N account of the slowness of the mails in those days 
it was some time before the sheriff from Alabama, 
with whom Jesse Holcombe had communicated, 
could secure requisition papers from the Governor of Mis- 
sissippi and go to the latter State for the prisoners. 

But in the mean time there were other requisition papers 
secured of a judge of probate in Mississippi for another 
prisoner to be transferred from the single to the married 
state, but in which case it was a willing captive arrested by 
a gallant captor who intended to detain the prisoner for 
life. There were no handcuffs used except perhaps a gold 
ring and a pair of slender bracelets. The tie of mutual affec- 
tion was the only restraint applied, and the freedom of the 
prisoner was granted merely upon her own recognizance, 
without bond. 

It was expected, therefore, when the sheriff from Ala- 
bama should begin his triumphal march homeward with his 
two prisoners, two rescued slaves and two recovered stolen 
horses, there would be a bridal couple in the midst thereof 
to grace the procession and to keep it cheerful along the 
way, for where the spirit of a bride is there is joy. 

It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader who the 
bride and groom should be, for he already knows that Jesse 
Holcombe was as successful in the detective work of the 
heart as that of the head, and that the capture he had made 
in the first instance was as creditable as that in the second. 


FORESTFIELD 


123 


Nor should the reader be surprised at the statement that 
there was to be a wedding at Mr. McLain’s before the re- 
turn of the young detective to his native State. 

The marriage took place about the first of September, 
and after the expiration of a week the couple were to leave 
for their Alabama home. Suffice it to say that the wedding 
was simple but tasteful, and that it emphasized the union 
of two as noble and true hearts as ever assumed the vows 
of wedlock. 

The reader may protest against the occurrence of two 
marriages in the same family before my story has passed 
the fourteenth mile-post, while it is customary to reveal the 
last startling denouement at the marriage altar. But I am 
allowing this narrative to drift in its own natural channel 
rather than force it between artificial banks which might 
cave in and destroy it. And I trust that the reader shall 
have cause to rejoice in this fact when the story lies behind 
him. 

About a week after Jesse Holcombe and Miss Clara 
McLain were married the sheriff from Alabama, with his 
deputy, arrived and made preparations to return with the 
prisoners. Mr. Holcombe, being well acquainted with the 
sheriff, was glad of the opportunity of traveling with him, 
and had everything in readiness. 

There was an interesting company about to start upon 
its journey from Mississippi to Alabama, a distance of near 
three hundred miles. And perhaps no company of travelers 
of the same number ever presented a greater variety in its 
personnel. There were the sheriff and his deputy, two kid- 
nappers, two rescued slaves, a bride and a groom, and a 
little quadroon Indian girl. At the head of the procession 
in a double hack were the sheriff and his deputy accompa- 
nied by the prisoners. Next followed in a carriage drawn 
by Dapple and Nankeen Mr. Holcombe and his bride, the 


124 


FOEESTFIELD 


little Indian girl, Wenona, and Jim, who held the lines. 
Behind these came the other rescued slave, driving the 
wagon taken with the prisoners and loaded with the bride’s 
trunks and other baggage. Mr. Holcombe’s saddle horse 
was led behind the wagon. 

One of the most interesting characters in the company 
was Wenona, the little Indian girl. She was a beautiful 
child, as are most Indian girls of certain tribes, and man- 
ifested a very sweet disposition. Of course her hair was 
black and long and glossy, and as it hung down her back in 
two plaits it looked as if two blacksnakes were suspended 
from the crown of her head. But when ‘^done up’’ after the 
style of her white sisters it was the crowning feature of her 
beauty. Her eyes corresponded with her hair and were 
deep and dreamy, as if looking far away across the prairies 
and mountains toward the land of her ancestors. Her 
cheeks were as brown as a chestnut in November, and of a 
ruddy glow so delicately blended with the brown that its 
limits could not be defined. Her stature was tall and 
erect and her form symmetrical, active and graceful. Be- 
coming accustomed to the ways of her white friends, she 
learned to love them, and was as happy as most unfortu- 
nates who bear the sorrows of orphanage. 

Sometimes the heredities of her mother’s race would as- 
sert themselves and urge her into the wild ways of the 
forest, when she would chase the hare or chatter to the 
birds. Wenona was like unto a beautiful wild flower trans- 
planted into a cultivated garden, which, while it could not 
be completely naturalized, showed the better by contrast 
its eccentric though attractive appearance. She was a flower 
of hope growing more sweetly than she knew. 

The day upon which the travelers began their journey 
was an ideal September day in the South. It was in that 
season when the ardor of summer is inclined to temper 


FORESTFIELD 


135 


down into the more temperate warmth of autumn, and 
when one’s feelings, corresponding with the mood of the 
season, are disposed to yield to the first intimations of the 
somber days to come. There were elements in the air which 
foretold an early fall. A misty veil hung about the distant 
forests through which the sun shone dimly, giving the first 
indications of the approach of Indian summer. 

Trusting that the favorable omens of nature would not 
prove false, the party were in high spirits, and with the 
kissing and embracing and hand-shaking and tears and 
parting words and the throwing of good omens after the 
departing bride the procession moved off and was soon out 
of sight, but not out of mind and heart of some whom they 
left behind. 

It was quite hard for the family to give up the only 
daughter to go so far away with little prospect of seeing 
her again soon; and especially under the shadow of the re- 
cent death of another daughter in another State. And to 
part with Wenona, who was just beginning to entwine her 
affections about the hearts of all, made the sacrifice the 
more severe. But as the latter was expected to return 
within a definite time the trial was thereby tempered into 
moderate endurance. Besides, Wenona was allowed to ac- 
company her adopted sister in order to modify somewhat 
the trial of going alone into a strange and distant house- 
hold. Like all other brides Mrs. Jesse Holcombe dreaded 
the grafting of her personality into a new and strange 
family tree. Wenona was thus made to serve as a connect- 
ing link that the separation might not appear so complete. 
And furthermore, the bride would have the privilege of vis- 
iting on the way the grave of her dear sister Flora and of 
dropping a tear and a fiower upon her alien place of rest. 
Thus are the complications of life by which affection is 
brought to worship within the temple of grief. 


FORESTFIELD 


12S 

There was little that was noticeable during the first day’s 
journey of the travelers except that they found the roads in 
good condition and the weather as favorable as was to be ex- 
pected. When they halted near a large spring at noon to 
rest and feed the whole party was delighted except the 
prisoners, who seemed to be reminded of a similar scene in 
Alabama, where they took their first step toward their 
present trouble. And as for Jim, he thought of it, too, but 
rejoiced that he was now under the protection of friends. 

During the noon rest Wenona could not resist the tempta- 
tion to wander into the forest in search of wildflowers and 
ferns, and bringing back a goodly nosegay she gave it to her 
sister — an offering from the wild and free domain of her 
mother’s unfortunate race. 

Not caring to drive a full day’s journey the first day, 
when they had reached the measure of about twenty-five 
miles they stopped at a wayside tavern for the night. And 
from the double motive of self-interest and courtesy the 
travelers were received by the tavern-keeper very cordially 
and entertained quite hospitably. The fare was good, the 
furniture neat, the attention kind, and they were enabled 
thereby to spend a restful night; The moon was full and 
sailed the clear heavens all night long. And the mocking 
bird, the moonlight songster of September in the South, 
sat upon a garden tree and threw wreath after wreath of 
melody around the mossy and ivy-clad roof of the wayside 
inn, until many a tendril and bud and blossom of his song 
swung into the open windows and, touching the ears of the 
sleepers, awoke them into an ecstasy of joy. 

After a hearty breakfast the next morning the procession 
resumed its journey refreshed and encouraged. 

To put up for the night, after a weary day’s travel, at 
an old-fashioned inn in those days was a luxury to be de- 
sired, if never enjoyed, and to be ever remembered when 


FORESTFIELD 


127 


once experienced. One could hardly forget the brown and 
crisp biscuits, the golden egg-bread baked in an oven be- 
tween two beds of live coals, nor the corn-flour waffles 
molded into brown and half-brown mosaics, and all well 
flavored with rich yellow butter from the spring-house. 
Nor could one forget the amber and aromatic coffee made 
in a coffee-pot upon a trivet near the chimney- jamb in the 
housekeeper’s own room. And there was the saltpetred 
ham, lean and juicy, interspersed with golden- white eggs 
floating within the rich red gravy. Such meals were gen- 
erous, wholesome and palatable, and especially so to the 
weary and hungry traveler. 

But what shall I say of the downy feather beds, to get 
into which one required a ladder or a chair! Luxurious 
couches they were, mesmerizing the sleeper into dreams of 
peace, when he thought he saw peaceful, swan-like geese 
sailing upon placid waters and under blue and crystal skies. 

There the country inn stood among the fragrant and 
soughing pines in its rustic garb, old and venerated for 
the many travelers it had accommodated in the years gone 
by. Far away from the town, with its artificialities, its ob- 
noxious odors and its noisy clamor, it stood solitary in the 
midst of nature, sweetened by the fresh air and brightened 
by the unadulterated sunlight of the outer world. Hard 
by was the barn filled with fodder and corn, and with am- 
ple stalls for the travelers’ weary beasts. Upon its roof 
settled the gentle pigeons, picking themselves and cooing to 
one another in guttural tones and then sailing around in 
graceful gyrations they passed out of sight beyond the trees. 

For the next two days our travelers accomplished about 
forty miles a day, which brought them by Saturday evening 
to the end of one hundred miles from Vicksburg. Here 
they put up with the intention of remaining over Sabbath. 

This did not appear to be the model inn to which I have 


128 ’ 


FOEESTFIELD 


referred, but a place of rather unsavory reputation for un- 
fair and dark deeds. It was reported that travelers had been 
made away with here for their money and valuables and 
were never heard of again. But our travelers had nowhere 
else to stay, save to camp out of doors, and that would have 
been hazardous and inconvenient. 

Besides this the sheriff realized that there was reason for 
apprehension on account of the danger of an attempt to res- 
cue the prisoners, for there were no doubt members of the 
Murrell band in the neighborhood who might recognize 
their fellows and attempt to liberate them. Such a proces- 
sion as our travelers constituted could not but attract at- 
tention, and especially in a sparsely settled country like 
that. 

About two hours by sun, Saturday afternoon, when the 
travelers were within six or seven miles of their stopping- 
place, called Hoot’s Tavern, a horseman came riding down 
the road, who, upon his approach, spoke to the occupants 
of the hack, which was in front, and was about to pass on 
when he suddenly reined up his horse and asked: Ain’t 
that Bill Ashcraft?” 

^Ht is,” replied one of the prisoners. Ain’t that Ike 
Hipp?” 

“Yes. How do you do?” answered the horseman. And 
he reached out his hand to his friend. The hack had now 
come to a stand. 

Bill Ashcraft, whose right hand was free from the 
handcuffs for a rest, shook hands with the horseman. But 
the latter, not noticing that his friend was a prisoner, 
asked: “How is business down the country?” 

This so embarrassed the prisoner that he hardly knew 
what to say, but blurted out in an awkward way: “Business 
is all right.” 

“ Get out. Bill ; I want to talk to you awhile,” requested 


FOKESTFIELD 129 

the horseman. “You can overtake the hack by the time 
it reaches the top of the hill.” 

“You must excuse Mr. Ashcraft this time,” said the 
sheriff. “He’s my prisoner.” 

“Ah, I didn’t know that; so you must excuse me,” re- 
plied the horseman, politely. “What have ” he started 

to inquire, but checking himself he spurred his horse and 
rode on. The procession then moved on also. 

Before the horseman turned to go the deputy saw him 
give the prisoners a sign, to which Bill Ashcraft replied in 
the same way. And when he communicated this informa- 
tion to the sheriff at the first secret oportunity the latter 
remarked: “I am afraid there will be trouble with the 
prisoners to-night.” 

Just before sunset the travelers drove up to Hoot’s Tav- 
ern, where they contemplated spending the night, and 
stopped. The proprietor, a rather repulsive-looking man, 
on seeing them, came out and invited them in. And Mrs. 
Holcombe and Wenona, who were quite fatigued, lost no 
time in getting out of the carriage and going into the house, 
where the wife of the proprietor received them with some 
courtesy and showed them to their rooms. The house was 
large and rambling, and though apparently of long stand- 
ing it was substantial and comfortable. 

“You seem to have a mixtry in your crowd,” remarked 
the landlord to Mr. Holcombe, whom he supposed to be the 
head of the company ; “thar’s white folks, and niggers, and 
Injuns.” 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Holcombe in as civil a manner as 
he could to such a comment. “It takes a mixtry to make a 
world.” 

“Hi! What you got so many guns for?” inquired the 
curious host as he approached the sheriff. “But I see now; 
you’ve got two prisoners.” 


130 


FORESTFIELD 


To which remarks the sheriff thought it unnecessary to 
reply, but proceeded to question the landlord in regard to 
the disposition of his people and horses for the night. 

To an out-house about two hundred yards from the tav- 
ern the prisoners were taken and left in charge of the 
deputy. The sheriff then bade the negroes take the baggage 
into the house, after which, excusing Mr. Holcombe, he 
and the negroes carried the vehicles and horses to the barn 
and fed them. Mr. Holcombe went into the house. 

By and by, when everything v/as thought to be well 
stored away and all had rested somewhat from their fa- 
tigue, supper was announced. The deputy and the prison- 
ers were supplied in the out-house, and the negroes were fed 
in the kitchen. The supper was plain but well cooked and 
the supply was ample for all. But none of the party failed 
to realize, even at that early hour, the difference between 
their present lodging-place and those already enjoyed on 
the road. 

After supper the sheriff managed to have a private talk 
with Mr. Holcombe and the deputy in regard to the antic- 
ipated attempt to rescue the prisoners, and accordingly ar- 
ranged everything for a successful defense. And that Mrs. 
Holcombe and Wenona might be prepared for the event if 
it should come he communicated his plans to them also, 
but consoled them by assuring them that it was merely a 
probability. Neither of the females of the company was 
hysterical and promised to behave well should the worst 
come. Mr. Hoot and his son Bedford were also apprised of 
the anticipated attack, both of whom offered to assist in the 
defense. 

The household then retired, and those who had heard 
nothing of the probabilities were soon sound asleep. But as 
a matter of course there were about nine pairs of eyes wide 
awake and upon the lookout. The sheriff had distributed 


FOEESTFIELD 


131 


the firearms of the party as follows : The deputy and the 
two negroes, who had been placed at the out-house with the 
prisoners, were furnished with one gun and two pistols, Mr. 
Holcombe was sent out with a gun to reconnoitre, while 
the sheriff reserved the privilege of passing to and fro with 
a shot gun in reach that he might overlook the whole mat- 
ter. Bedford Hoot with his rifie volunteered to accompany 
Mr. Holcombe on his scout. 

The out-house where the prisoners were held was about 
two hundred yards, as I have already said, from the tavern, 
and of course would be the point of attack. And everything 
being in readiness our war-like travelers waited anxiously 
the result. 


FORESTFIELD 


132 


CHAPTER XV. 

A RESCUE ATTEMPTED. 

A BOUT nine o’clock upon the night our travelers ar- 
/\ rived at Hoot’s Tavern there were four men con- 
suiting in the woods about one mile distant. 
They were all members of John A. Murrell’s band of slave- 
stealers and were planning to rescue two of their comrades 
from the clutches of the law. 

“Men,” said the leader, “that sheriff is a brave fellow, 
and if we save Ashcraft and Nolen to-night we’ll have to do 
quick and brave work.” 

“Yes,” replied Holt; “but we must creep upon him while 
he’s asleep.” 

“I’ll venture he’ll not be asleep,” replied Leggett. “I 
know’d that feller in Alabama.” 

“Tom Hipp wiU tell us how the land lays,” said the 
leader, “when he returns.” 

Hipp had been sent early in the night to watch the dispo- 
sition of the prisoners and to see if any precautions had 
been taken to defend them. When he returned the leader 
asked: “Well, Tom, how does the land lay?” 

“The land lays purty steep,” replied Hipp. “They’ve 
got the prisoners in the out-house and they’re guarded by a 
white man and two niggers, and there’s two fellers on picket 
standin’ west of the tavern, as ef they think we’re cornin’ 
from that way. Now our best plan would be, I think,” 
continued Hipp, “to wait tell they git tired watchin’ and 
git sleepy, and then sneak upon ’em toward day when 


FOKESTFIELD 133 

they’ve done give ns up. Whut do you think of it, cap- 
tain 

“That’s a very good plan,” replied the leader. “You’re 
a good scout, Hipp. But we’ll come upon them from the 
big road, where they will not be expecting us. But let’s 
see how we’re fixed for business. I’ve got as good a rifie,” 
continued the leader, “as never flashed in the pan and a 
double-barreled durringer. What have you all got?” 

“I’ve got a good shot-gun loaded with buck-shot,” said 
Holt, “and the man that stands before her is a dead duck !” 

“I ain’t got no gun or pistol,” said Leggett, “but I’ve got 
as keen a bowie-knife as ever carved a man’s liver. All I 
ask is to git close to ’em !” 

“Here’s a gun, capt’n, I give fifty dollars fur,” said 
Hipp, “jest fur killin’ deer at two hundred yards, and she 
never fails. Them fellers jest can’t git outen the way of 
me as long as they’re in sight.” 

The leader, who was rather a man of more consideration 
than the rest, and who did not wish to do anything desper- 
ate, undertook to moderate their zeal and remarked : 

“We don’t wish to hurt anybody in this undertaking and 
I’d advise you all not to become reckless. I am acquainted 
with the sheriff and one of his party, and I would hate to 
injure either one of them. But I hope we may be able to 
capture the whole business without firing a gun. And I 
think we can do so if you will only obey my .orders.” 

The time had now arrived for the band to approach the 
tavern, and the moon had risen high in the heavens, as if to 
furnish her light for the desperate deed. And after riding 
up to within a short distance of the house, but still under 
the cover of the woods, the four men dismounted and tied 
their horses, including two for the prisoners, and made 
ready for the attack. 

“Now, men,” said the leader in a low tone, “be quiet and 


134 


FORESTFIELD 


do what I tell you. I want you to follow me down the 
fence, get over into, the road and creep along the fence on 
the other side of the road, and when you get opposite the 
out-house jump over the fence and charge right upon the 
door and break it down before they know what’s the mat- 
ter. I’ll carry the ax and burst the door down, and then 
you all must rush in and seize the guards, take their arms 
from them and tell the prisoners to run for the horses. 
Hipp, you carry the dark-lantern and when you get into 
the house turn the light on that we may see what we are 
doing.” 

The men had carried out the orders of the leader to the 
letter until they got to the fence opposite the out-house, 
where they stopped to see if any one was up and about. 
But they heard not a sound, for at that late hour the 
guards, having concluded that there would be no attack, 
had become careless and dropped off to sleep. Mr. Hol- 
combe had long since been excused by the sheriff and re- 
tired, while the sheriff himself was nodding in a chair 
within a room that opened toward the out-house. And the 
deputy and the negroes were left to watch the prisoners 
between naps. Bedford Hoot had retired as soon as he 
and Mr. Holcombe had returned from their reconnoiter. 

Finding the way clear, as they expected, the attackers 
bounded over the fence, rushed upon the out-house and with 
one blow of the ax in the strong hands of the leader the 
door went down with a crash. Hipp then rushed in with 
the leader’s derringer in one hand and the dark-lantern 
in the other and, turning on the light, discovered the three 
guards just awakened by the noise and the prisoners sitting 
up, but handcuffed and chained to the wall. The two ne- 
groes, becoming afraid lest they might be carried off instead 
of the prisoners, had jumped out of the back window and 
fled. 


FORESTFIELD 


135 


The deputy, who had more courage, seized a pistol, 
sprang to his feet and was about to fire when Holt, a very 
stout man, ran up and seized him and held him fast. This 
made the assault successful provided the prisoners could be 
released before the sheriff heard the alarm. But the prison- 
ers were so securely fastened that it required some time 
to release them. The leader demanded of the deputy the 
keys of the handcuffs, and threatened to shoot him if he did 
not produce them at once. But as one of the negroes had 
taken them off with him they could not be produced. The 
next thought was to break the staple in the wall to which 
the prisoners were chained and lead them out as they were. 
The leader seized the ax, gave the staple a heavy blow and 
off it came, when the prisoners were told to run in a certain 
direction for the horses. But as the handcuffs were still on 
their wrists and a chain dragging behind, when they 
reached the fence they could not climb over. And while 
three of the rescuers were trying to help the prisoners over 
the fence, which was very strong and high, and the fourth 
was still holding the deputy, Wenona, who discovered what 
was going on from her window up-stairs, rushed down and 
alarmed the sheriff, who had not yet been awakened by the 
attack. 

The sheriff then started toward the out-house with gun in 
hand. But before he could get there the attackers discov- 
ered him by the light of the moon and began to fire on 
him, to which he was afraid to reply lest he might hit the 
deputy or the negi’oes whom he thought were engaged in 
the struggle with the rescuers. Ball after ball passed close 
to him, but he still advanced, hoping to get near enough to 
the enemy to discover friend from foe. In the mean time 
Mr. Holcombe and Bedford Hoot had come to the aid of 
the sheriff, and the three, despite the hottfire to which they 
could not reply, were closing in on the band. 


136 


FORESTFIELD 


The prisoners were gotten over the fence at last, followed 
by their three assistants. And Holt, who was holding the 
deputy, was now compelled to let him go or run the risk 
of being captured. So picking up the deputy’s pistol which 
was dropped in the scuffle, he threw it out of the window, 
released his hold upon him, sprang for the fence and leaped 
over. By this time the sheriff and his two assistants arrived 
at the fence and, seeing the field clear of friends, began to 
fire on the retreating band, at the same time climbing over 
the fence, followed by the deputy. 

The attackers and the prisoners were now making their 
way across the road, which was quite wide at this point, 
going in the direction of their horses, and there being a 
large gate on the other side of the road, they could make 
easy ingress into the woods and be comparatively safe. 
The sheriff, seeing that the enemy was about to escape with 
the prisoners, sent the deputy down the road with instruc- 
tions to jump over the fence into the woods and cut them 
off from their horses. 

As the enemy approached the big gate some one unex- 
pectedly sprang up behind the fence and fired on them, 
which caused them to stop, turn about and start down the 
road, when the deputy, who had not gone far, turned and 
fired upon them also. The sheriff and his two other men, 
seeing the disadvantage at which the enemy were being 
placed, advanced, closed up on them and cried out : Sur- 
render ! Surrender !” And the enemy, realizing their dis- 
advantage, being fired upon from three directions and one 
of their men already wounded, the leader replied quickly : 
‘^We surrender! Cease firing!” 

As the firing ceased and the defenders closed in upon the 
attackers there could be seen in the bright moonlight a 
white object like unto a ghost climbing over the fence next 
to the woods with a gun in its hands. As it approached 


FORESTFIELD 


137 


both captors and captured turned to look at it, wondering 
where such an object could come from. It moved noise- 
lessly along in its white robes until it came near the group, 
when it was heard to say: “We captured them, then, didn’t 
we, Mr. Holcombe?’^ And the strange apparition was rec- 
ognized by its voice as Wenona. 

The little Indian girl, who had picked up a gun as she 
came out of the house, and seeing the situation of things, 
had run across the road and got over the fence, where she 
took her stand for the purpose of demoralizing the enemy 
by a surprise. While crouched down behind the fence she 
could hear a ball now and then strike a rail or go singing 
over her head, having come from the guns of her friends, 
who were firing from the opposite side of the road. She 
thus accomplished more in the combat than she had antici- 
pated. 

The prisoners were taken back to the out-house, where 
by this time Mr. Hoot and his family, accompanied by Mrs. 
Holcombe, had gathered under much excitement in the 
yard, having been awakened by the firing. The two negroes 
who had fled so precipitately were also on hand. 

And when the excitement, which was very considerable, 
had abated, Wenona, who realized that she was not in 
proper costume to be seen in company, ran back to her 
room, accompanied by Mrs. Holcombe, where she was con- 
gratulated by the women folks of the household for her 
commendable courage and her coolness in time of danger. 

Putting all the prisoners, now six in all, into the out- 
house and placing a guard over them, the sheriff waited 
for daylight, when he sent for the horses and found them 
still tied in the woods. 

When the casualties of the conflict had been estimated 
they were found to be few and slight, except in the case of 
Holt, one of the assailants, who had received quite a pain- 


138 


FOEESTFIELD 


ful flesh-wound through the thigh. The sheriff had several 
bullet-holes through his clothing, the deputy had sprained 
a joint or two in his scuffle with Holt, Jesse Holcombe had 
a slight scratch upon his arm made by a passing ball, and 
Wenona had a lock of hair almost severed just above her 
temple. All the rest came out without a scratch, unless the 
two fleeing negroes received honorable wounds as they 
passed through a briar patch. 

‘T wuz skeer’d de Murrell ban’ mought git me ergin,” 
said Jim. “That’s whut made me run.” 

“An’ I wuz feer’d of de same thing,” said the other 
negro. “We sho did fly.” 

When Jesse Holcombe came face to face with the leader 
of the attacking party he was surprised and very indignant 
to discover that he was no other than his old neighbor and 
friend, Dr. Northcut. When the doctor, who had kept 
himself in the background upon the day the negroes were 
placed upon the block, saw that Ashcraft and Nolen were 
about to be apprehended he made his escape from the city 
of Vicksburg and instigated and organized the attempted 
rescue of his accomplices. He had watched the movements 
of Jesse Holcombe and the officers unobserved until he un- 
derstood their plans and had ascertained the very day upon 
which they would start for Alabama with the prisoners. 
And calculating about the time they would arrive at Jerry 
Hoot’s Tavern he pushed on ahead to arrange for an attack 
upon them that night and rescue his accomplices. 

“Is it possible that this is you. Dr. Northcut?” asked 
Mr. Holcombe with much surprise and indignation as he 
looked straight into the eyes of his old friend. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” replied the doctor in confusion, as 
he now looked at his accuser and then upon the floor. 

“Why, I thought you were helping me in my detective 
work when you were really hindering me,” continued Mr. 


FOEESTFIELD 139 

Holccmbe; “and I am very sorry to discover you in this 
awkward position.” 

“Well, I don’t suppose my position is so awkward as you 
think it is,” replied the doctor, in a resentful tone. “You 
are not old enough, young man, to judge of the motives 
and actions of your elders.” And he looked unusually 
fierce at his accuser. 

“While I have all due respect for my elders. Dr. North- 
cut, it is only when they are worthy of it,” was the rather 
cutting reply. “But you ” 

“Come now, young man! that will do!” protested the 
doctor fiercely as lie rose to his feet and smote the table with 
his clinched fist. “I shall not submit to any more of your 
criticism and abuse! It is true you have me in your 
power,” he went on, “but I shall not allow you to abuse that 
power without protest! No true gentleman would have 
taken the advantage of another that you have taken of me, 
sir, and ” 

But the sheriff, seeing the result to which the affair was 
tending, rose up and requested them to desist. And when 
Jesse Holcombe realized that he had allowed his indignation 
to carry him too far, he composed himself and begged the 
doctor’s pardon, which was readily granted and nothing 
more was said upon the disagreeable subject. 

Dr. Northcut was a man of much spirit, and like most 
Southerners, whose spirit he had imbibed, he was ready 
under all circumstances to resent an affront, while Jesse 
Holcombe, though of a similar temperament, was ready to 
heg his pardon as soon as he realized that he had gone too 
far in his criticism. 

After breakfast the deputy and Bedford Hoot, the land- 
lord’s son, went to the county town some seven miles away 
and reported to the proper authorities the capture of the 
four men. The sheriff of the county then came out to the 


140 


FOEESTFIELD 


tavern and took the four prisoners in charge and they were 
soon committed to jail. A physician came with the officer 
and dressed Holt’s wound before taking him away. 

As there was a general discussion of the casualties of the 
fight, for all had now become reconciled, reference was made 
to the heroism of Wenona, and to the lock of hair that was 
cut oft by a ball from the sheriff’s party. Bedford Hoot 
claimed that it was his ball that did it and insisted that 
the little heroine should turn it over to him. And when 
all seemed to agree with Bedford, the lock was delivered up 
amid much merriment. 


FORESTFIELD 


141 


CHAPTER XVL 

A QUIET SABBATH BY THE WAY. 

W HEN the excitement of the previous night had 
abated and the minds of the travelers had re- 
acted Mr. Holcombe inquired if there would 
be religious services in the neighborhood that day, as it 
was the Sabbath. He was told that a Methodist circuit 
rider would preach at a little log church about a mile dis- 
tant at three o^clock in the afternoon. Whereupon he de- 
termined to go and worship with the people. 

That was an ideal September Sabbath, for the spell of 
an early Indian summer now rested upon all nature, and 
there was abroad a spirit of repose that could not be de- 
scribed. The birds sang in subdued tones and the crickets 
chirped at one’s feet as if far away. The lazy grasshopper 
lighted upon the bending weed by the wayside and cared 
not to stir, and the yellow butterfly was loath to leave the 
cup of the fading flower. The day was particularly restful 
to those whose feelings had reacted from the exciting epi- 
sode of the night. 

Dinner being over, which was necessarily late on account 
of the large company to be provided for, Mr. Holcombe and 
his party wended their way to the little log church in the 
woods. Some one suggested that they walk, as the road was 
shady and very dry and smooth. And somewhat to the sur- 
prise of the travelers the landlord himself and his wife and 
daughter proposed to go also. The episode of the night be- 
fore had proven to be a clarifier, and the unfavorable opin- 


142 


FORESTFIELD 


ions of the guests concerning the character of their hosts 
had materially changed for the better. In one instance at 
least there was improvement upon acquaintance, and that 
was between Wenona and Bedford. The lad had become 
enamored of the heroism of the little Indian girl, and was 
so fascinated by her simple beauty that he was constrained 
to ask for the pleasure of her company to church. And 
managing it in some way he was seen to lead the company 
down the shady road with Wenona by his side. Mrs. Hoot, 
Mrs. Holcombe and Miss Dinah Hoot came next, followed 
by Mr. Hoot and Mr. Holcombe, all in accord with the eti- 
quette of the rural districts. And perhaps this was the 
most congenial manner in which the pedestrians could have 
been arranged. The ladies of the tavern proved to be quite 
sociable and talkative and the landlord was no less agree- 
able. As for Bedford, he could not under the circum- 
stances be anjdhing else but agreeable. Plucking a rich 
plume of goldenrod that nodded by the wayside, he pre- 
sented it to Wenona, who received it, pinned it at her left 
shoulder and smiled him thanks. 

While Bedford felt very happy he was a timid boy and 
dreaded the attention he might attract at church as he 
walked up with an Indian maiden by his side. The people 
there had seen Indians before, perhaps, but they had never 
seen one of their neighbor boys gallanting an Indian maid 
to church. As the couple approached the place of worship 
groups of people stood about the door, and as such people 
generally do, they stared hard at the stranger, and espe- 
cially at Wenona and her gallant beau. But the pair ran the 
gauntlet safely and took their seats upon slabs of wood 
perched upon four legs. Wenona’s fame had preceded her 
and she was the center of attraction. 

Soon the preacher entered the church, took his stand near 
a rude table at one end of the house and began the service. 


FORESTFIELD 


143 


While a number of the more devout paid strict attention 
to what the preacher said many more craned their necks to 
gaze at the strangers, and especially at the Indian girl sit- 
ting beside Bedford Hoot, which caused the latter to wince 
now and then as he held his ground with a pleasing grin 
upon his face. 

The preacher delivered an edifying discourse which was 
complimented in a crude but sincere manner by several of 
his hearers, among whom was Jerre Hoot, the tavern- 
keeper, who afterward invited the minister to go home with 
him and spend the night. 

ainT no member of the church,^’ said Mr. Hoot to Mr. 
Holcombe; “but they say I’m a brother-in-law to it. And I 
always wooshes it well. Mandy and Dinah here is members, 
and I don’t want to stand in their way. My house is always 
open to the preachers free of charge, and I gives ’em the 
best I have.” 

After introducing his guests to the preacher Jerre went 
and brought the latter’s horse and led him along the road 
as he and Mr. Holcombe and the preacher walked 
home. 

That night, at the suggestion of the landlord, religious 
services were held at the tavern, after notifying the neigh- 
bors, when the sheriff and the rest of his party who could 
not attend church in the afternoon had the opportunity 
of being present. The handcuffs were removed from the 
prisoners and they were invited to take seats in the little 
congregation beside the sheriff. Bill Ashcraft, who had 
been a very wicked man, was much affected by the sermon, 
as the preacher discoursed about the conversion of the 
Philippian jailer under the ministry of St. Paul. And 
it was said that the slave-stealer soon after reformed his 
life and became a better man. 

The next morning the travelers resumed their journey 


144 


FORESTFIELD 


witH much satisfaction, having captured their assailants, 
saved the prisoners, attended church, made a favorable ac- 
quaintance with the tavern-keeper’s family and enjoyed a 
Sabbath day’s rest. But it was pitiable to look at Bedford 
as he bade farewell to Wenona by degrees. The thirty-six 
hours that she had spent under his father’s roof were to 
him as an oasis in the desert. And the Scripture which 
enjoins us to “be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for 
some have thereby entertained angels unawares,” was ful- 
filled in his sight. And after delaying the travelers as long 
as possible under various pretexts, such as going to the 
orchard in company with Wenona for a basket of apples 
to be deposited in the carriage, he followed the vehicle for 
half a mile on foot, pretending to be on his way to a neigh- 
bor’s house. And as he ran through the woods parallel with 
the procession he kept his eye upon the little maid as she 
sat, perhaps on purpose, upon the box with the driver, pass- 
ing slowly but surely out of his view but not out of his 
thoughts. It was said that when he returned he com- 
plained of having eaten an onion and having gotten the 
juice in his eyes. 

After several days’ journey without any noticeable inci- 
dents the travelers arrived early one afternoon in the neigh- 
borhood where lay the body of Flora McLain, the unfortu- 
nate sister of Mrs. J esse Holcombe. Here they put up for 
the night, and as the spot was not far away and they had 
several hours to spare before night, they concluded to visit 
the grave. Of course no one of the party cared to go except 
Mr. and Mrs. Holcombe and Wenona, but as the family 
with whom they were lodging were acquainted with the lady 
in whose garden the gi-ave had been made, a young lady of 
the house offered to accompany them to relieve the more or 
less embarrassment of the occasion. 

Upon arriving at the house Mrs. Preston, recognizing the 


FOEESTFIELD 


145 


young lady, came out to the gate, and after being intro- 
duced to the party, invited them in. And when the occasion 
of their visit was made known she kindly led them into the 
garden and pointed out the grave of Flora. That morning 
she had placed some fresh flowers upon the mound, and 
when Mrs. Holcombe saw that evidence of the loving care 
of a stranger her heart was so filled with mingled grief and 
gratitude that she could not fully express it. Taking and 
pressing the hand of her stranger friend she said not a 
word. A few plumes of goldenrod that grew near the 
grave were plucked by Mrs. Holcombe and placed upon it. 
With hearty thanks to Mrs. Preston for her kindness, the 
party returned to their lodging-house. 

After two days^ journey more the travelers arrived at 
home, the sheriff and his deputy and the prisoners having 
left the party some distance back for Hunterstown, the 
county town. When they arrived at Forestfield they were 
invited to get out and rest awhile, as they had ample time 
to reach Mr. Jesse Holcombe’s home before sunset. 

Among the demonstrations of joy that attracted atten- 
tion on that occasion was that of Jim, the carriage driver, 
when he realized that he was safe at home again. Driving 
up to the gate where stood Cousin Jane, William Hol- 
combe, Elizabeth, Miss Gladys Holcombe, Jabez Johnson, 
Aunt Caroline, Uncle Ned and Jim’s wife, Polly, and her 
children, the driver sprang from the box, and without stop- 
ping to open the carriage door and let down the steps, ran 
to Cousin Jane, seized her by the hand, and falling upon 
biis knees, exclaimed: “Bless Gawd, Miss Jane, I’m back 
home once mo’.” 

“But there’s Polly and the children, Jim, you haven’t 
seen yet,” suggested Cousin Jane. 

Turning to his wife, he threw his arms about her neck, 
with his two children swinging to his coat, and wept for joy. 


146 


FORESTFIELD 


Mrs. Jesse Holcombe and Wenona were appropriately in- 
troduced and they all went into the house. 

“I am very grateful to you, Jesse,” remarked Cousin 
Jane, ‘‘for the recovery of Jim and the horses. And I con- 
gratulate you upon the securing of Mrs. Holcombe and We- 
nona to accompany you home.” 

“You are perfectly welcome to my services, Mrs. Pern- 
rose, and I thank you in turn for your congratulations.” 

After resting awhile Jim conveyed the three new arrivals, 
with Miss Gladys, over to Jesse Holcombe’s home, where 
similar greetings were exchanged, and the half-bridal tour 
with its incidents came to an end. 


FOKESTFIELD 


147 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE tillage forum. 

S OON after the sheriff and his party arrived in Ala- 
bama Bill Ashcraft and Sam Nolen were arraigned 
before the circuit court at Hunterstown for slave- 
stealing and were convicted and sentenced to the peniten- 
tiary. But in the course of the trial it was developed that 
Dr. Northcut was an accomplice in the commission of the 
crime. He also was convicted, besides being found guilty 
in the State of Mississippi of attempting to rescue prisoners 
from the custody of an officer. The penalties combined 
were about seven years’ imprisonment, but on account of 
the doctor’s age and ill-health he was excused two years’ ser- 
vice, and returned home five years afterward totally changed 
in almost every respect. His home had become dilapidated, 
his household mutilated by death, and the former respec- 
tability which he and his family had enjoyed had become 
a matter of shame and contempt. And having spent all his 
means in the effort to escape the Just punishment that 
threatened him poverty and almost want had entered his 
door. He had certainly realized the truth of the Scrip- 
tural proverb, “Be sure your sin will find you out.” 

At this time, the year of 1856, when the question of the 
abolition of slavery was being so fiercely agitated by the 
Republican party of the North, there were a few persons in 
the South who sympathized with them, but who took care 
not to express their opinions too freely. And, strange to 
say. Dr. Northcut was of this number, although he was an 
exception in regard to the expression of his sentiments. 


148 


FORESTFIELD 


For his indomitable spirit .of independence would not per- 
mit him to cower at the feet of any opposition. And though 
knowingly in the wrong, he would fight to the death, so to 
speak, for the maintenance of his position. It was thought 
that the complete reversion of his sentiments was attribu- 
table to a spirit of revenge for the indignities he had suf- 
fered on account of his crimes. But reaUy the cause of his 
complete change of opinion was the ripening of the late 
fruits of his antecedents, for the doctor was born and edu- 
cated in Massachusetts, and had there prepared to practice 
his profession before he removed to Alabama. Until he was 
convicted of stealing slaves he was strongly in favor of the 
institution of slavery, although he owned no slaves him- 
self. But when the clandestine profits of the institution 
ceased to flow into his hands he returned to his original 
opinions. 

Upon the approach of the Presidential election this year, 
1856, the chief topic of public policy under discussion was 
that of slavery, and when that subject was apparently ex- 
hausted the practice of polygamy by the Mormons was al- 
ways ready to take its place. And the principal store in the 
village of Middleville, about two miles from Forestfield, 
was the popular forum of debate for our neighborhood. 
Middleville was a little hamlet strung along on two sides 
of an important public road and cut in two by a lane run- 
ning east and west. Its prominent features were two 
churches, a school-house, two or three stores and a black- 
smith shop. Yet the lack of water, as it sat upon an ele- 
vation, in summer, was thought to be one of its most prom- 
inent features. And the systematic rumbling of water- 
carts was one of its chief noises. The village had been 
called Screamer^^ at one time, but it had become so sedate 
in its manners and customs about the time of which I write 
that it had lost its ancient title. 


FOEESTFIELD 


149 


When Squire Goodwin, the village magistrate, had ad- 
journed court one day, after trying a civil case of some im- 
portance within the counting-room of the chief store, the 
minds of the company relaxed from the tension of litigation 
and reacted upon the subject of slavery, when the discussion 
became so warm that it attracted the attention of every 
one, among whom were two or three negroes whose rolling 
eyes showed that they, too, were interested in the fate of 
their race. 

“Squire,” said Dr. Northcut, who had become a strong 
Abolitionist, “whom do you think will be elected President 
this time ?” 

“Mr. Buchanan, of course,” replied the squire. “Your 
man, Mr. Fremont, is too much of a fanatic upon the sub- 
ject of slavery to be trusted with such a high office.” 

“You may call him a fanatic if you will,” rejoined the 
doctor, “but he’ll be the next President of the United 
States. If it were not for the zeal of fanatics, squire, the 
world would never move.” 

“You mean, I suppose, that the world would never move 
backward,” rejoined the squire, sarcastically. And with- 
out waiting for his opponent to reply, he asked: “Where 
does Mr. Fremont expect to get his electoral votes?” 

“Why, from all the New England States and from New 
York and Pennsylvania, and all the Western States, includ- 
ing California.” 

“He can hardly carry Pennsylvania — Mr. Buchanan’s 
native State — and I think some of the others you men- 
tioned are doubtful,” replied the squire. 

“Do you suppose that this enlightened country will vote 
to sustain slavery and polygamy, the ‘twin relics of bar- 
barism?’” asked the doctor, with much warmth. “If it 
should, it would prove itself unworthy of the title of 
civilized !” 


150 


FORESTFIELD 


‘^Well, but let me ask you a few questions/^ remarked 
the squire, calmly. “Was not the first American slave-ship 
built in Massachusetts? And did not some of the most 
prominent citizens of that State purchase slaves of the first 
cargo of that vessel ? And were not the women and children 
of the defeated Pequod Indians sold into slavery right in 
New England ? And was not the son of King Philip sent to 
the Bermuda Islands by the same people, and sold into 
slavery? I should like to know what has become of the 
consistency of your people on this question?^’ 

“That may be all true enough,’’ said the doctor, in a can- 
did tone, “but are the descendants of those people respon- 
sible for what their ancestors did? Some of your fore- 
fathers, squire, may have been Abolitionists, as far as you 
know; and if so, are you responsible for it? Generations 
change,” he went on, “and often for the better, and that’s 
what the New Englanders did. But you Virginians, who 
first introduced slavery into America, have never changed, 
as shown by your position to-day.” 

At this happy hit of the Southern Yankee there was a 
hearty laugh by some of the audience, although they did 
not agree with him; for the squire had often boasted of 
having come from Virginia. And he could not refrain 
from clearing his throat at this, and seeking another line 
of attack. 

“But if Mr. Fremont should be elected, there will be 
civil war,” added the squire, with some warmth; “for the 
pro-slavery element will never submit to any interference 
with that institution which has been so long established 
under the Constitution. And would you prefer to have 
civil war, doctor, rather than a few negroes should be held 
in a humane state of slavery ?” 

“Yes, sir!” answered the doctor, with fire in his eye. 
“I am willing to adopt the motto of your own Patrick 


FOEESTFIELD 


151 


Henry, when he set the fires of revolution burning : ^Give 
me liberty or give me death !’ And if the success of the 
right brings civil war, I say let it come 

At this juncture, Jabez Johnson, who was sitting on a 
nail-keg near by, remarked : Wal, now, you all needn’t to 
git so rampant about this thing; for neither one of you is 
’zactly right about it. The squire wants the Southern peo- 
ple to go on buying more niggers to make more cotton, to 
buy more niggers to make more cotton, to buy more niggers 
to make more cotton; and the doctor wants the Northern 
people to put a stop to it, because they hain’t got no niggers 
and cotton.” 

^‘The Northern people do not want your endless suc- 
cession of negroes and cotton, Jabez,” remarked Captain 
Kuffin, a very conservative slave-holder of the neighbor- 
hood, ^^for they would soon realize that they had an ele- 
phant on their hands. If I thought it would be to the ad- 
vantage of the negro to set him free,” continued the cap- 
tain, “I would say let it be done to-morrow. But I do 
not think it would be to his advantage unless it could be 
done gradually and the negro could be colonized. To set 
the whole race free suddenly would create a source of con- 
tinual disturbance that could not be allayed in years. But 
as far as I am concerned personally,” the captain went on, 
think emancipation would be a blessing, for it is about 
all that I can do to feed and clothe my slaves comfortably 
and make a decent living for my family. And from an- 
other standpoint I believe it would be best for the whole 
South. Our country will never develop as it might under 
the institution of slavery, no matter how much cotton it 
may produce. But how the transformation can be brought 
about without a great shock to our Government I cannot 
see.” 

“I agree with you, captain, and yet I don’t agree with 


152 


FORESTFIELD 


you/’ interposed the doctor, who was determined to contend 
for his convictions. ^^The negro has a right to he free as 
well as the white man and the right should not be denied 
him. Freedom with a crust of bread is better than slavery 
with abundance. Take the slaves of Joel Patterson 
for example. Don’t you know that they had rather be free 
and have only half enough to eat than to work without pay 
from daylight until dark and get but little more to eat ?” 

‘^But Joel Patterson’s slaves are an exception to the 
rule, doctor,” replied the captain. ^‘You should not select 
extreme cases with which to illustrate your position. Take 
the slaves of such owners as David Harris, William Spence, 
James Martin and of Mrs. Pemrose and Mrs. Waldrup in 
this neighborhood and apply your theory and see what 
would become of it. The slaves of all these are well fed and 
clothed, are taken care of in sickness and have time to make 
some money for themselves besides. They have, also, relig- 
ious privileges and many are taught to read. Really, they 
are better off than many white people.” 

^‘Oh, yes; I must admit what you say is true,” con- 
ceded the doctor. “But that does not affect the great 
principle of human rights involved in this question. But 
to bring this subject home to you both,” he concluded, “I 
will ask you this : Are either of you willing to exchange 
places with any of the slaves you mentioned?” 

“That’s an unfair question, doctor,” replied the captain; 
“we are not dealing with theories or suppositions, but with 
facts and conditions. I fail to see that freedom for the 
slaves of the kind you Republicans require would be of sub- 
stantial benefit to them, especially while you urge it with so 
much fanaticism and prejudice. And, as the squire said 
awhile ago, if you continue urging it in that spirit it will 
bring about insurrection and civil war. We’ve already had 
an example of it in the State of Kansas,” the captain went 


FOEESTFIELD 


153 


on, ^‘and I think we should elect Mr. Buchanan and post- 
pone that state of things as long as possible, if it is bound to 
come.” 

“John Brown and his followers are right,” exclaimed the 
doctor with visible excitement. “And if Mr. Fremont is 
defeated something of the same sort will happen in the 
South. As for my part, I say let it come.” 

Upon this insurrectionary utterance followed a dead si- 
lence in which every one seemed to hold his breath. It was 
as a clap of thunder, not from a clear sky, but from a 
rather thin cloud, which shook the village forum to its 
foundations. Such an utterance from an ex-slave-stealer 
seemed preposterous and withal rather imprudent in those 
exciting days. And as the doctor was now venturing upon 
dangerous ground and was exciting much resentment in the 
minds of the pro-slavery element about the store. Squire 
Goodwin arose and beckoned him aside to admonish him to 
be more careful in regard to what he said upon that sensi- 
tive subject. And when the two men had retired out of ear- 
shot of the crowd Ben Simpson, an uneducated and reckless 
man who had no sympathy for the negro or for any one 
who advocated his freedom, arose in his wrath and declared 
that “any man who would come from the North and say 
that the niggers wuz as good as white folks ought to be 
hung, and that he would lead any crowd to do the job.” 

These words of Simpson were not altogether idle words, 
for he had already proved himself capable of executing the 
threat by his conduct as a leader of a band of “patrollers.” 

When the squire and the doctor had returned the latter 
was in a more conservative mood and seemed to be 
disposed, at the squire’s suggestion, to qualify his intemper- 
ate speech. But Ben Simpson refused to listen and went off 
muttering something to himself, mounted his horse and 
rode away. And as no one wished to pursue a subject fur- 


154 


FORESTFIELD 


ther that was calculated to stir up ill-will, Captain Ruffin, 
who had been looking over a newspaper in the mean time, 
asked Squire Goodwin what he thought of the Mormons in 
Utah who were then giving trouble to the general Govern- 
ment. 

“Well,’^ said the squire, who was glad to welcome a new 
theme upon which all could agree, ‘^one wife is enough for 
me, for I can hardly control that one ; and I doubt whether 
any other man could succeed better. 

‘^But don’t the Bible favor a man having more than one 
wife?^^ demanded Jabez Johnson. 

“The Old Testament seems to do so,” answered the 
squire; “but the New Testament does not. I think that the 
practice of polygamy by the J ews was the result of the de- 
generation of the race, and that God rather permitted than 
endorsed it.” 

“Of course I b’lieve in a man havin’ one wife,” rejoined 
Jabez, “but I jest wanted to know whut you men thought 
of it.” 

“You don’t seem to believe in every man having one 
wife, Jabez,” rejoined the captain, “or you would have had 
one by this time yourself.” 

“Well, captain,” said Jabez, who was sometimes a little 
inconsistent in his jesting when he saw where he could give 
his opponent a jolt under the short ribs, “the reason I 
hain’t never had one wife is bekase you got more’n your 
sheer.” For Captain Ruffin had married three times. 

Although the captain felt that Jabez was rather rough 
with a delicate subject, he came back at him vdth a Roland 
for his Oliver when he replied: “Yes, but if I had not 
married at all, Jabez, it would not have increased your 
chances, for you would have hardly attracted the fair sex as 
I did.” And the laugh was turned on Jabez. But he ral- 
lied again and said: 


FOEESTFIELD 


155 


got along mighty well so fur without a wife and I 
reckon I can go the balance of the way without one.” This 
was at least philosophical. 

At this juncture the dinner horn on Captain Euffin’s 
plantation blew a blast or two, which could be easily heard 
at the village, and the disputants turned, every man to his 
own house, to gather again about the shank of the after- 
noon. 

This was no exceptional day at the village forum of Mid- 
dleville, for every day in the year, rain or shine, except Sun- 
day, the disputants gathered to discuss every question, both 
private and public, from the price of farm products to the 
doctrine of ‘^squatter sovereignty.” And mingled with 
these weighty discussions were a variety of recreations, such 
as marble-playing, checkers, fox and geese, whittling sticks 
and target-shooting. To see grown and gray men fingering 
in the dust with a marble and hearing them say: venture 
dubbs,” ^^you’re fat” and ^'don^t you fudge,” may have ap- 
peared undignified, but it was at least a means of passing 
off the time that seemed to hang heavy on their hands. 
And their coming and going was as regular as the rising 
and setting sun. 

The personnel of this daily convention was varied and 
interesting. From the rich planter of a hundred slaves to 
the free negro, there was represented here almost every 
type of the male population of the community. And if I 
choose to call some of them by name and attach to each a 
descriptive tag of distinction, whose business is it? There 
was Captain Oglesby, a rather quiet man, who rode a sorrel 
horse with four white feet and face, and on a saddle that 
always creaked to let you know he was coming. There was 
David Hughey, tall of stature and raw-boned, who took de- 
light in saying, when he had the advantage of you in a game 
of checkers: ‘‘good-by, eager,” and who always gladly re- 


156 


FOEESTFIELD 


ferred to the one time he served in the State Legislature. 
Green Petty, who was a good marksman and a great fox 
hunter, was recognized at some distance by his blowing 
horn hung to his side, and who distinguished himself after 
the civil war by refusing to take advantage of the bank- 
rupt law, but gave up the most of his valuable estate in 
order to pay his debts. John Hawkins was a dried-up, one- 
armed man, who preferred to squat down on his heels rather 
than take a seat while talking, and who always gave his 
head a side jerk as if emphasizing his remarks, and from 
his position in conversation one might have inferred that 
he believed in squatter sovereignty. Dr. Hanner, who had 
ceased to practice medicine because he believed it to be a 
humbug, was a faithful attendant upon the forum when he 
was not netting quails or shooting squirrels, at which he 
was an adept. Charles Weakley was not a regular attendant 
upon the convention, but he is mentioned because he said 
that when he got religion he ^Helt something hit him zipT 
and that he had never doubted his conversion since. Free- 
man Black, who made only occasional visits to the forum, 
was always expected to purchase his saddle-bags full of 
sugar and coffee, and he was a man who always kept on 
hand a lot of saltpetred hams three years old. Daniel Fos- 
ter was a tall, raw-boned man of dark complexion that be- 
trayed his Indian blood, and his visits to the forum were al- 
ways remembered because of his very loud and hearty words. 
Dr. Proudfit, who lived in the village, is remembered for 
his long white hair and whiskers, his little pink bullet eyes, 
his red complexion, and especially for the six little fice 
dogs that followed him. The doctor was famous for his 
contrariness and for holding the page of a book crosswise 
to read it. J ohn Bagley, who never visited the store unless 
he had business, was a clever man and so industrious that 
he was accused of working because he Icrved it. I have al- 


FOEESTFIELD 


157 


ready mentioned Squire Goodwin, Captain Ruffin, Jabez 
Johnson and Dr. Northcut. It is true there were others 
who visited the village forum and talked and laughed and 
shot marbles and played checkers, but as everybody cannot 
hope to become famous I shall not mention them here. 
Suffice it to say by way of apology that the visits of these 
gentlemen to the village were not altogether useless. When- 
ever a conflagration occurred they all went in haste to put it 
out, and whenever a village lad got hung up by his Angers in 
a barn loft they would all go and help him down. But I 
should not fail to mention the one free negro, old Jack 
Ripper, who was as punctual at the forum as any of his 
white colleagues, and who never failed to express his opin- 
ions at the flrst opportunity. And from among his many 
wise and familiar sayings the following come to mind : 

“You all talked a heap, to be sho, but you ain’t said 
nothin;” “Ef you didn’t know so much, you’d know mo’;” 
“It takes money to make the mwar go;” “Thar ain’t no use 
in lockin’ de do’ when de horse is gone.” 

But these have gone the way of all the earth, and there 
is “no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the 
grave whither they have gone.” The old storehouse is va- 
cant, its timbers are crumbling to decay and it is likely to 
follow soon the way of its whilom frequenters, which leads 
unto the dust and forgetfulness. 


158 


FOKESTFIELD 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


THE SPIRIT OF INTOLERANCE. 

NE Saturday night about eight o’clock, a few weeks 



after the spirited discussion on slavery occurred at 


the village store, four men on horseback met in 


the midst of a swamp about one mile from the village, 
who were on mischief bent. Under ordinary circumstances 
they might have been taken for neighborhood patrollers, 
who frequently exploited the country, and especially on Sat- 
urday nights, to see that all slaves were in their proper 
places, or that they had passes from their masters. 

But on this occasion those four self-constituted patrollers 
presented a different aspect. Over the body of each was 
thrown a long calico robe belted about the waist and with- 
out sleeves. Upon the head of each was a cowl of similar 
material, with a face-piece attached containing four aper- 
tures for the eyes, nose and mouth. Within this disguise 
it was almost impossible to detect the wearer, save by his 
physique, manner or voice. 

“Are you ready, boys ?” inquired the leader in a low tone, 
after they had been adjusting their disguises for some time. 

“We are ready,” replied the others as in one voice. 

“I think we’ll meet the rascal about the lone oak in Pat- 
terson’s lane,” suggested the leader, “and we’ll have him 
back here by nine o’clock. When we get through with him 
he’ll never preach nigger equality any more in this coun- 
try or in any other. Have you got the rope, Jake ?” 

“Yes; and a good one at that.” 


FOKESTFIELD 


159 


“I’m all of a shiver, Ben,” said one of the band to the 
leader. “Gimme your flask and let me take a swaller or two 
to brace me up to the business.” 

“You’re right. Buck; let’s all take a swig,” added the 
leader; “for we’ll need it before this job’s done with.’^ 

When they had all taken deep draughts from the flask of 
whiskey and had started off, leaving their horses tied in a 
dense thicket, the leader suddenly turned and asked if the 
bottle of lampblack and brush were in the right place. 
And when told that they were all right, the band proceeded 
toward the lone oak in Joel Patterson’s lane, about half 
a mile distant. 

The night was dark, being illuminated only by a few 
stars that glimmered through the broken clouds, while the 
early autumn winds moaned like a lost spook through the 
thick undergrowth or swept in gusts through the tops of the 
trees in louder wails of sadness. And the four men crept 
cautiously through the dense thickets as they constantly 
fed the determination of their deed upon the fiery liquid 
of the flask, as if conscious of the diabolism of their pur- 
pose. 

About this time and about the same distance from the 
lone oak, but in an opposite direction, were two other men 
proceeding upon their way, but separate and apart. One of 
them was on foot and upon his way home to the village to 
see his family, whom he had not seen in a fortnight, having 
been upon an itinerary of labor for their support. The 
other was a huntsman on horseback, followed by a number 
of dogs, making his way to the swamps in search of a fox. 

The first man looked up and blessed the light of the stars 
that cheered him on his way and thought of the time when 
he hoped to be able to remain at home with his family and 
support them as in other days in decency and comfort. The 
second man rode along whistling blythely and wondering 


160 


FOEESTFIELD 


if there was a sly fox awaiting the pursuit of his dogs in 
the depths of the swamps. The first was Dr. ISTorthcut, who 
was compelled to seek a living for himself and family as 
a journeyman carpenter, a trade which he had fortunately 
acquired during his imprisonment, and which now proved 
the only substitute for his lost profession. The second was 
a stalwart huntsman, Peter Kemp, the Nimrod of the 
neighborhood and a man who was always ready to help the 
distressed. 

As the doctor trudged along the road thinking of the 
hearty welcome awaiting him from his wife and children, 
who had never forsaken him in his sinful misfortunes, he 
was suddenly surrounded by four men in disguise who 
seized him, tied him, and throwing the loop of a rope over 
his head, led him away in the direction of the dismal 
swamp without uttering a word, afraid, perhaps, that their 
voices might betray them. Indeed their original plan was 
so well laid that they had agreed to hold their tongues until 
the deed was accomplished. A very unreliable promise to 
be made by men in their cups. 

Despite the strong protests , of the poor doctor and even 
his pitiable pleading for mercy the cruel men uttered not a 
word. Silently and slowly through the darkness, like unto 
mourners marching to the grave, they led their victim 
across the fields, through the forests and into the swamp, 
until they had reached the spot which they had left an hour 
before. And although the doctor’s assailants had given him 
no intimation of their motive or purpose, he had only to re- 
vert to the discussion on slavery at the village forum a few 
weeks before to account for both. 

Stripping the helpless man of all his clothing, they 
painted him with lampblack from head to foot, until he 
could hardly have been distinguished from the blackest 
negro in the community. And yet they had spoken not a 


FORESTFIELD 


161 


word. And when they had finished the blacking process 
and had stood off under the light of a dim lantern and 
laughed at the miserable plight of their victim, they threw 
the end of the rope which they had around his neck over 
the limb of a tree and was about to draw the unfortunate 
man from the gi’ound when they heard the clatter of a 
horse’s hoofs approaching through the darkness. In the 
mean time the whiskey which they had drunk had taken full 
effect and they were hardly able to execute the final cruel 
act. But before they could rally their senses and renew 
their strength Peter Kemp, the huntsman, rode up and by 
the dim light of the lantern discovered the drunken fiends 
attempting to hang the poor doctor. 

Leaping from his horse and drawing his pistol the hold 
assailant sprang into the midst of the band, firing as he 
advanced, before whom the persecutors fied in consterna- 
tion. In the excitement the lantern had been overturned 
and extinguished and all became dark and silent, save the 
faint light of the stars and the sound of the headlong flight 
of the patrollers on their horses through the swamp. 

The rescuer, having some matches in his pocket, relighted 
the lantern and started in search of the victim, whom he 
soon discovered crouched down behind the root of a tree 
which had been blown up by a storm. Stooping down 
and holding the light as near as possible to the spot he 
spoke kindly to the doctor and bade him get up, assuring 
him that all danger had passed and that he was in the 
hands of a friend, though he mistook the doctor at first to 
be a negro and did not discover his mistake until he had 
heard him speak. But it was hardly necessary to inform 
the unfortunate man that he was in the hands of a friend, 
for when he heard the familiar voice of Peter Kemp he 
sprang up and threw his black arms about his neck and 
wept for gratitude and joy. 


162 


FOEESTFIELD 


Cutting the rope from the victim’s neck and hands the 
kind huntsman then proceeded to replace his clothing, and 
after assuring the doctor that he would do all he could 
to apprehend the miscreants he placed him on his own horse 
and led him slowly and carefully out of the swamp into the 
main road, and was soon approaching the village like a good 
Samaritan with his grewsome charge. 

Not wishing to surprise and alarm the doctor’s family 
with so revolting a revelation that night, Peter Kemp 
stopped at the home of Squire Goodwin, and calling him up 
and relating the sad episode, the poor doctor was taken 
into the house and tenderly cared for. The lampblack was 
washed from his body, his bruises attended to and a stim- 
ulant given him, when he was put to bed and soon fell 
asleep. When the Squire discovered the impress of the doc- 
tor’s blackened arms around Peter Kemp’s neck, he jest- 
ingly inquired if the patrollers had not been trying to 
blacken him too. 

“No,” replied the brave huntsman, “that’s only the mark 
of the doctor’s gratitude for his deliverance.” 

The next morning, when the doctor had about recovered 
his normal feelings, he went home accompanied by his de- 
liverer, when the latter gradually unfolded the misfor- 
tune of his friend to his family, and for his own heroic part 
in the drama received the unmeasured gratitude of the en- 
tire household. He had shown himself the good Samari- 
tan and was now receiving his reward. 

The next step was to set about apprehending the mis- 
creants who committed the atrocious deed. But as they 
were disguised and dumb, neither the victim nor the rescu- 
er, the only witnesses, could positively testify against them. 
And after consultation with Squire Goodwin and other men 
of judgment they concluded not to pursue the matter fur- 
ther just then, believing it impossible to bring the guilty 


FOEESTFIELD 163 

parties to justice. They thought it best to await develop- 
ments. 

When the doctor had fully recovered and had dismissed 
the matter from his mind he received an anonymous letter 
warning him that if he had not left the community by a 
given time he would receive similar treatment as before. 
So not wishing to be the innocent cause of more sensation 
in the neighborhood he sold out his possessions and re- 
turned with his family to Massachusetts, his native State. 

When the circumstantial evidence had been summed up 
the perpetrators of the deed were strongly suspected, but as 
the plaintiff was now out of the country their conviction 
seemed out of the question. But this did not deter the peo- 
ple of the community from severely condemning the crime. 
They felt that the perpetrators did not belong to the repre- 
sentative and more conservative class and therefore suffered 
no uneasiness concerning the reputation of the neighbor- 
hood. 

On the day following the crime, which was Sunday, Ben 
Simpson and his suspected colleagues attended church and, 
as such people usually do, remained sitting under the trees 
during the services, talking to willing hearers about 
their patrolling exploits the night before. And during the 
conversation several remarks were made which tended to- 
ward self-conviction on the part of Ben Simpson and 
others. But the excitement soon abated and nothing more 
was said about the matter for some time, except when 
friends exchanged opinions in strict confidence. Yet 
the guilty parties felt that they were suspected, and 
as far as their callous natures would permit they suffered 
at least a partial penalty. 

Notwithstanding the surcease into which the incident 
had fallen there was a significant sequel which followed, 
and one which fixed a portion of the blame upon another 


164 


FOEESTFIELD 


party not before mentioned in connection with it, and that 
person was Joel Patterson, the cruel master who it was said 
bound his slaves down to the burden of a hoe-handle only 
three feet long and who made those who left grass among 
the cotton-plants pull it out with their teeth. This man’s 
cruel manner had frequently provoked the Abolitionist 
doctor to hard words of condemnation, which generally 
reached his ears, and to reap revenge upon his accuser he 
had planned and brought about his banishment from the 
State. As Jabez Johnson expressed it: “Hit wuz heap 
easier to prove that J oel Patterson lampblacked and 
hung Dr. Northcut than to prove who hit Billy Patterson.” 

The suspicion that reached Ben Simpson and others 
rested merely upon their threatening words, some previous 
unsavory patrolling and upon their characters in general. 
While Peter Kemp had discovered the perpetrators in the 
very act of committing the deed their disguises prevented 
all recognition of individuals. But he, as well as others, 
was satisfied in his own mind who were the guilty parties. 
As Ben Simpson had been heard to say at the village 
store that “any man who would come from the North 
and preach negro equality ought to be hung, and that 
he would lead the squad to do the work,” of course, when 
his threat had been fulfilled, everybody looked upon him as 
the chief of the guilty parties. But such a conclusion 
lacked a great deal of being infallible. The most blatant 
enemy may often be the more innocent, while the more 
silent foe may prove to be the more guilty. Quiet waters 
run deep, but shallows gurgle and lash into foam. 

A short time after Dr. Northcut had left the country, 
Peter Kemp had occasion upon another hunting expedition 
to pass the spot where occurred the doctor’s undoing. And 
wishing to take a careful survey of the ground, which he 
was unable to do upon the night of the crime, he dis- 


FORESTFIELD 


165 


mounted and crept through the bushes to the spot, which no 
one had apparently visited since the eventful night. Near 
the place lay the rope with the noose cut and the bottle of 
lampblack turned upon its side near by. Upon ex- 
amining the bottle carefully the huntsman found the name 
‘^Joel Patterson’^ written in rude letters on the label. And 
reasoning from the well-known fact that Joel Patterson 
never loaned anybody anything he concluded that the bot- 
tle out of which Dr. Northcut had been blackened was fur- 
nished by him, if he did not assist in the blacking. A few 
steps away lay the brush. Placing these articles in his 
pocket he mounted his horse and returned home. 

As the huntsman rode along thinking how he might con- 
nect a series of links of evidence into a chain that would 
bind Joel Patterson in the bonds of conviction, it occurred 
to him that he would examine the lantern also which he had 
taken away upon the eventful night; and if he should find 
the same name on that he would have at least two strong 
links to begin with. When he had examined the lantern 
his expectations were fulfilled, for Just across its bottom 
the same name was found written in similar characters. 

When Patterson heard that Kemp had the articles re- 
ferred to in his possession he came at once to claim them, 
for he could not bear the idea of any one having anything 
belonging to him. The likelihood of the articles implicat- 
ing him in the crime did not deter him from claiming them, 
for his cupidity would incite him to run the hazard of death 
for the most trifling value. 

Coming to claim his property of the huntsman, the lat- 
ter asked Patterson in a Jesting way if he were not afraid 
it would implicate him in the crime. 

^<;N'o — urrer — by dang!” replied the covetous man; 
‘Hhey’d b’ar as much aghn me in your hands — ^urrer — as 
they would in mine. Hain’t thar the name of Joel Patter- 


166 


FORESTFIELD 


son — ^urrer — on the bottle and the lantern both ? I’d go at 
’em to the edge of hell — urrer — ef they wuz mine 

‘^Bnt suppose/’ asked Kemp, “I should ask you how 
came the lantern and the bottle in the hands of the pa- 
trollers who blackened Dr. Korthcut and then tried to hang 
him that night?” 

“I’d say, by dang! — ^urrer — ^you prove whose hands they 
wuz in that night,” was the shrewd reply. 

“Well, there is where I found them, and the men who 
ran off must have used them,” replied Kemp. 

“Wal, since you know so much about it, who wuz the men 
that run off?” asked Patterson. 

“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions,” was the 
guarded answer. 

“Dang your suspicions!” 

This outburst of resentment on the part of Patterson 
excited Kemp to a more thorough investigation, and what 
was begun in jest now assumed a serious form. And he 
continued: “Suppose I should ask you why the lantern 
and bottle were out of your possession at that time?” 

“I’d say— urrer — ^by dang! somebody come and stole ’em 
frum me.” 

“Yes; but could you prove that, Mr. Patterson?” 

“I know they wuz whar I put ’em — ^urrer — one night, 
and they wa’n’t thar the next mornin’ — ^urrer. I know 
that.” 

Seeing that it was impossible to entrap the old miser, 
Kemp gave him his property and he went on his way rejoic- 
ing. For Kemp was merely experimenting with him and 
had no idea of taking the case into court while the plain- 
tiff was in a distant State. 

Joel Patterson was a planter who by hard work and al- 
most total abstinence from every comfort, connected with 
overreaching greed and the grinding of his slaves in the 


POEESTFIELB 


167 

dust, had accumulated a considerable amount of propert}^ 
It was said, however, that he got his start in the following 
way: He and two brothers were employed by some slave- 
holder in Virginia to drive a large number of slaves to 
Alabama and sell them. But when they arrived there the 
slave-market was dull and they proceeded to hire out the 
slaves to the planters of the country and to lay up the 
money until they had accumulated enough with which to 
purchase a large body of land. After which they put the 
slaves to work on their own land to produce cotton. Whether 
the three Pattersons ever rendered an account to their em- 
ployer was not said. 

Of the three brothers J oel Patterson was the most covet- 
ous. He was unable to see good in anything that did not 
bring the dollars into his reach. And if he had worn a pair 
of spectacles with a silver dollar in each eye-frame he could 
not have represented his view of all things in a more appro- 
priate way. His continual cry might have been thus: 
^‘Give me half a loaf and half a dollar; give me half a 
slice of meat and half a dollar ; give me half a cup of coffee 
and half a dollar; give me an old pair of shoes and half a 
dollar ; give me half a suit of clothes and half a dollar ; give 
me no books and a whole dollar; give me no Bible and a 
whole dollar; give me no God but Mammon.’’ As he said 
to Peter Kemp, he would go to the edge of perdition for 
anything that belonged to him. And Jabez Johnson 
thought “he would go thar fur what belonged to t’other 
people.” 

Ben Simpson, who was suspected of being the tool of 
Joel Patterson in the persecution of Dr. Northcut, was of a 
similar type. Being so, he found no difficulty in securing 
employment from year to year upon the plantation of that 
cruel master. Where Ben Simpson was there was the spirit 
of Joel Patterson. 


168 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

TWO GENTLEMEN" OF THE OLD SOUTH. 

A t the close of this the first period. of my story I beg 
leave to introduce to the reader two gentlemen of 
the Old South, whose pen-portraits I wish to 
place where they may be seen by every one who may be dis- 
posed to look back upon them after he has passed into the 
second period. Not that they are more deserving than some 
other characters which I have partially sketched, but be- 
cause the lines and angles of their personalities made a 
clearer and more lasting impression upon my mind’s eye, 
I give them this distinction. Besides, such types of 
character are fast fading away, and I feel it my duty in this 
connection to preserve them if possible from oblivion, as 
admirable specimens of citizenship of the former days. 
Commercialism, greed and duplicity were not then the tri- 
une motive of so-called progress, as in these latter days — 
but under the influence of moderation, integrity and con- 
tentment the country prospered and moved forward. 

Please observe the courteous bow of Squire Goodwin and 
Captain Euffin, and hear the squire clear his throat and 
say: “I am glad to meet you, sir;” and hear the Captain 
remark: “I am happily gratified, sir, to form your ac- 
quaintance.” See the former stroke his double chin and 
the latter arch his gray and shaggy eyebrows. 

The distance from the village store to Squire Goodwin’s 
home was exactly half a mile. The half-section lines 
proved that, and was not the squire an authority upon sec- 


FOEESTFIELD 


169 


tion lines? Besides, did lie not walk down to the store 
and back twice every day, and once on Sunday to church, 
for upward of thirty years ? And did he not take the same 
number of steps of the same space and in the same length 
of time both going and coming? I say that he did, for I 
was an eye-witness a portion of the time. Upon the horizon 
of our social life the squire loomed conspicuously, and no 
season was so inclement as to shut him off from view. 

Do you see that large man of more than two hundred 
pounds weight and about six feet high coming out of a gate 
on the top of yonder hill ? Do you see him throw his large 
head back, thrust forward his cane with his right hand and 
adjust his spectacles with his left ? If you do, you are look- 
ing at Squire Goodwin. 

Few men present a spectacle worth looking at for a dis- 
tance of half a mile, but the coming of the squire always 
attracted more or less attention in our village. 

There was no macadamized road in those days for the 
squire^s feet, and in muddy weather he must needs pick his 
way with caution lest he should soil his well-cleaned shoes. 
I wish he could have enjoyed the advantage of our smooth 
and solid road, for what a picture of un jostled dignity his 
coming would have furnished from day to day ! Yet he 
had one advantage then that he would not have now, and 
that was ample room for his large and dignified move- 
ment. For comparatively few people traveled the road 
then, and the squire had plenty of time and space in which 
to raise his head and look through his far-reaching glasses 
the usual number of times. And if he tarried at all by the 
way it was merely to inspect the work of his one slave 
field-hand who tilled his little farm adjacent to the public 
road. 

Jabez Johnson used to say that “It’s a real show to see 
Squire Goodwin coming down to the store. He looks as 


170 FORESTFIELD 

big as an elephant, as proud as a peacock and as wise as 
Solomon.^’ 

If the squire failed to come to the store every day we were 
satisfied that he was sick or had gone to the county town. 
But he rarely went to town more than three times a year. 
He would go to sell his few bales of cotton and to lay in 
a year’s supply of groceries, to pay his taxes and to report 
his docket to the grand jury. If he went at any other time 
it was an extraordinary occasion. 

The squire loved his home and seldom went out of sight 
of it. In his daily trips to the village he might have been 
likened to the movement of a clock. The road being high at 
each end and low in the middle, it formed the arc of a 
circle along which the squire moved from day to day with 
the precision of a pendulum. He never got in a hurr}^ 
and it took a very threatening cloud to perceptibly in- 
crease his pace. Indeed, he never hurried about anything, 
for he always began in time. System and promptness were 
the chief ingredients of his moderate but comfortable suc- 
cess. 

With sixty acres of land, two slaves, two horses, two cows 
and a few hogs, with numerous fowls, his household lived 
like unto the people of Grand Pre,” where ^^the richest 
were poor and the poor lived in abundance.” And with the 
perquisites of his office in addition, no wealthy slave-holder 
in the community enjoyed more contentment than did the 
family of Squire Goodwin. And he owed no man anything. 

But come and let us take a closer view of the squire. See 
his large round head and face ; the short gray hair brushed 
to a precision and the face clean-shaven and ruddy, sup- 
ported by a bulging double chin; observe his large blue, 
liquid eyes, his prominent nose and his firmly set mouth, 
all indicating the combination of strong common-sense, 
beneficence of heart and stability of character. He invari- 


FOEESTFIELD 


171 


ably wore a cutaway coat approaching the pigeon-tail 
pattern and made of jeans by the deft fingers of his in- 
dustrious wife. Indeed, his entire appearance always sug- 
gested both neatness and economy. 

In his manner and customs the squire was a model of 
deliberation, for he never wasted an ounce of strength nor 
lost a single word. His conversation was as measured as his 
movements. But as in most cases of too deliberate and 
measured converse the pride of opinion was very pro- 
nounced and prominent in him. The innate feeling that he 
ought to know more than anybody else caused him to be- 
lieve that he did. Not that he was guilty of conscious 
falsehood, but the habit of relating remarkable incidents 
had grown into the fancied belief that they were true. Aside 
from this weakness the squire was an upright, honorable 
man. 

As a dispenser of justice Squire Goodwin was in one re- 
spect the literal fulfilment of one of the nursery rhymes 
concerning the alphabet, which says: ^^E was an esquire, 
proud of his vow.” And the office seemed to be proud of 
him. No doubt there were other men in the community 
who were just as competent for the office as he, but his 
personal appearance and manners seemed to become the 
office so well that he never had any opposition to his candi- 
dacy. He was one man who literally adorned his position 
in size, weight, shape, manners and speech. And he was 
no fool in making up and expressing a decision. 

The squire’s hall of justice consisted of the counting- 
room of the village store, but he would frequently hold his 
court in pleasant weather upon the store porch. He gen- 
erally carried with him a safety inkstand and along with it 
a gold pen protected by a joint of reed, with which imple- 
ments he prepared his legal documents with the neatness 
and precision of copperplate. No matter how insignificant 


172 


FORESTFIELD 


the case before him he gave it the same careful thought and 
deliberation that he devoted to those of more seeming 
importance. He never hurried nor allowed himself to be- 
come excited in his deliberations, but took sufficient time 
with much composure. The trial of a trifling misdemeanor 
and the holding of an inquest over a dead body were the 
same to him, and order and dignity were equally preserved 
in both cases. Wlien the squire on the seat of justice would 
clear his throat with a deep detonation that would shake his 
double chin and he would command, “Silence in court 
everybody, from slave-holder to the small boy loafer, recog- 
nized his authority and respected it. 

Squire Goodwin took great pride in saying that no decis- 
ion of his, on being appealed, was ever reversed by the 
higher court. Perhaps his memory failed him at this 
point, but his believing it made it true with him, though 
I suppose he was not very much mistaken after all. 

That egotism of his, which seemed to be a natural gift 
with the squire, influenced him in almost everything he 
said or did. According to his claim, he always had the best 
garden in the neighborhood, his vegetables being larger 
and of better flavor; the produce of his fields was more 
abundant per acre than that of his neighbor farmers, and 
his wife Nancy was the best hand in managing milk and 
butter that he ever knew. And as regards cooking and pre- 
paring the table she could not be excelled. Frequently he 
would come down to the store after a hearty meal, congrat- 
ulating himself on its superior excellence. Indeed, he had as 
good a gift for eating as he had for presiding at a trial. 
Perhaps if he had governed his appetite he would have 
lived longer. 

At last the old squire went down to his grave in all his 
dignity and egotism, but highly respected for his sterling 
qualities, and for more than thirty years the evergreen ce- 


FORESTFIELD 


173 


dars of his own garden-plot have softly sighed over his nn- 
waking slumbers, showing by sign and by sound that he has 
not been forgotten. 

Captain Ruffin was a typical Southern planter, except he 
did not reach that degree of success which generally 
attended that vocation. He inherited quite a number of 
slaves, sold a few under the necessity of meeting the defi- 
ciencies of his plantation, but never purchased one. He 
treated his negroes as kindly as he could and never permit- 
ted one to be whipped by an overseer. If Captain Ruffin 
was not so successful as some of his neighbors in propagat- 
ing and buying slaves, raising cotton and purchasing land, 
it might have been attributed to his clemency as a master 
and to his unbounded hospitality as a neighbor and friend. 
He kept open house and no one was ever turned from the 
board and shelter of his home. He seemed to live for the 
pleasure of other people, and the chief exponent of his 
large-heartedness was the extension of the hand of welcome 
to every one. Jabez Johnson used to say that “Captain 
Ruffin had a barbecue at his house all the year round. 

The captain had served gallantly through the Mexican 
war under his title, and had emphasized it after he re- 
turned home by commanding a company of militia. Yet 
he was liable to be called captain, according to custom, if 
he had never seen a muster-ground or a battlefield. He 
might have had the honor thrust upon him. While a per- 
manent disability, contracted by a Mexican bullet, pre- 
vented his enlistment in the Confederate army, his heart 
was in the cause and his prayers and means behind it. 

At the risk of being facetious I will state that the cap- 
tain in personal appearance resembled somewhat the great 
men of American history, and especially those whose pic- 
tures adorned at that time the pages of our school books. 
With a clean-shaven face, his hair parted between the mid- 


174 : 


FORESTFIELD 


die and side of his head and brushed in front of his large 
ears, and with his rolled collar and black stock, he might 
have passed for William Wirt, John Jay or Silas Wright. 
His face was very expressive with mingled dignity and hu- 
mor, and when he chose not to overawe the children with 
sternness he would make them laugh. J abez J ohnson used 
to say that: “Ef anybody could make a dog laugh hit wuz 
Captain Ruffin.” 

When he was a younger man the captain was thrown vio- 
lently from a buggy by a runaway horse, and as a conse- 
quence he could neither hear, taste nor smell with any de- 
gree of satisfaction. The song of the bird, the sweetness of 
the fruit and the fragrance of the flower were all lost to 
him, and he could only look at them and smile. Still, with 
all these deprivations he was cheerful, for he was a deeply 
religious man and felt that he had other blessings to be 
thankful for. And he always had a consoling word for the 
distressed when everything about the precinct of sorrow 
brightened at his hearty words. 

The captain had a remarkable gift for relating anecdotes, 
and to do so was his beloved employment. He seemed to 
have an appropriate anecdote for every topic. To see his 
face after telling a funny story was as amusing as the story 
itself. He would turn his bottom lip over his teeth, stretch 
his upper lip down as far as possible, lift his eyebrows 
into his forehead and chuckle his whole frame into a shake. 
Jabez Johnson said that “he reminded him of a man look- 
ing into a glass while tightening his lip for a shave.” Not 
to have preserved the captain’s laugh by brush or camera 
is a serious loss to the art gallery of the world. 

One of his best anecdotes told of a man whom he knew, 
and who, though strong of body and clever of mind, never 
got along well in the world. And when he was asked with 
surprise why the man did not prosper^ he answered; “Be- 


FOKESTFIELD 


175 


cause lie would turn his little finger over his thumb. Then 
you should have seen the captain’s face — it was a wonder ! 
He would adjust his fingers as if holding a wineglass, 
and turn the imaginary vessel up to his lips, which was 
a sufficient explanation. 

Besides taking part in many a confiict of death and car- 
nage Captain Euffin had fought many a combat with trou- 
ble and sorrow in the piping times of peace. He was one 
of the civil heroes of the earth of whom the world is not 
worthy. While there was but one scar upon his fiesh there 
were manifold wounds upon his heart, and as honorable 
as ever represented martial glory. Like a dark but broken 
cloud that shadows the mountainside, and through which 
an occasional sunburst falls in splendor, adversity lowered 
over him, but with the redeeming radiance of the Chris- 
tian’s faith and hope. Three times the companion of his 
life passed from his side into the darkness of the tomb, fol- 
lowed by several beloved children, and left him in the lone- 
liness of a double bereavement amid the infirmities of 
age. 

Added to these trials was the emancipation of his slaves, 
which while it did not wholly impoverish him shocked 
his feelings by rudely transferring him from the exalted po- 
sition of master to the lower one of dependent. To be 
compelled to request where he was accustomed to command 
was a change too radical not to disturb his aristocratic 
sensibilities. 

Toward the close of his life the captain would often take 
his armchair under the shade of the trees in summer, cross 
his legs, clasp his hands, half close his eyes and muse upon 
the events of the strenuous past. While sitting thus he 
would excite the sympathy of every observer who fully ap- 
preciated the changed conditions which had come over him. 
Jabe^ Johnson used to say that when he saw Captain Euffin 


176 


FOEESTFIELD 


musing under the trees “he looked like a man fishin’ in a 
hole whar he didn’t expect to ketch nothin’.” 

Figuratively speaking, our waggish philosopher was 
about right, for out of the past came to the ex-master the 
recollection of better days while the future promised only 
years of social and political storm and darkness. Not so 
much to himself, of course, but to his posterity ; for he ex- 
pected, according to the course of nature, to soon rest under 
the sod of his ancestral fields, where there would be “no 
work, nor device, nor knowledge.” 

However, the clouds would occasionally rift and let down 
the sunshine, when again would beam from the captain’s 
benign face that whilom hearty joyousness which made 
him such a favorite in social companionship. He would 
then turn to his accustomed source of cheerfulness, that re- 
fined and pleasing manner of jesting at which he was an 
adept. He had no remorse of conscience to combat grow- 
ing out of his administration as a slave-holder, for he had 
accepted slavery as an inherited obligation and dealt with it 
accordingly. The slave-holder of the South, he said, was 
dealing with a condition and not a theory. It was well 
enough to hold the doctrine that “all men are born free 
and equal,” and to desire its universal acknowledgment, but 
to effect it without detriment to both races was a problem 
difficult to solve. 

I shall leave the old ex-slave-holder and gentleman of the 
Old South still sitting within the shadow of his ances- 
tral trees, his eyes closed in sleep and his chin resting upon 
his breast. The summer evening breezes toy with his gray 
locks and flap the leaves of his newspaper, while the bum- 
ble-bee drones his song under the eaves of the house. Fall- 
ing to sleep, he forgets his troubles for awhile and dreams 
of the scenes of other days, when he was master of all he 
surveyed. And as the light of the descending sun falls in 


FORESTFIELD 


177 


tenderness upon his fine and venerable features it shows the 
passing away of a type of chivalry that shall never adorn 
again the citizenship of America. 

The reader will pardon this anticipation, for both the 
squire and the captain shall again appear within this story 
to perform yet other parts — ^that is, if I should find a place 
for them. But to be safe, he had better bid them good-by. 


BND OF FIRST PERIOD. 



FORESTFIELD 


SECOND PERIOD 1861-1866 


/ 


FORESTFIELD 


SECOND PERIOD 1861-1866 


CHAPTER I. 

PREPARING FOR WAR. 

I HAD now been at Fores tfield — the spring of 1861 — 
about ten years, during which period many changes 
had been wrought; and, although there had not 
occurred a single death in the family, all of us had grown 
older and had drawn that much nearer the gate that opens 
into the way whither goeth all the earth. 

Cousin Jane’s rich raven hair had become streaked with 
gray and there was a crow-foot below each temple; but 
she was no older in heart, for’ the kindliness of her disposi- 
tion seemed to have developed into new phases of gentle- 
ness that in her younger days she knew not of. Like a 
flowering vine that puts forth every succeeding year a 
greater abundance of blossoms, her beautiful life became 
more and more prolific of words and deeds of loving ten- 
derness. 

Elizabeth had now been married nine years, and three 
beautiful and affectionate children — Charles, Janette and 
Virginia — had gathered as olive plants about her table, 
and Cousin Jane had been permitted to look with delight 
upon her children’s children. 

Edward had reached his majority, and was now looking 
181 


182 


FOKESTFIELD 


with more serious purpose toward the future, as he realized 
the approach of the sterner responsibilities of manhood; 
and Alice, who had grown up by his side, now entered 
upon the maturer period of womanhood, hut as near him 
as ever, as the tendrils of her affections became more and 
more entangled with his own; and I was still proud to call 
them ^‘my children.” 

And there was Wenona, the Indian maid, with raven 
tresses and nut-brown cheeks, worthy to be a princess of 
her mother’s race, dreaming, perhaps, of some red knight 
from the West and wondering if he would ever come and 
lead her away to some distant and happy hunting-ground. 
Or, perchance, there was still a tender feeling in her heart 
for Bedford Hoot, of the pine woods of Mississippi, as she 
remembered her sojourn at the wayside inn, her walk 
with him to the little log church, when the sumacs were 
blushing red and the golden-rods were waving by the way. 

Jabez Johnson, though standing upon the verge of three- 
score years and ten — the allotted period of man — was as 
eccentric as ever, and was disseminating his waggish 
philosophy with as much pride and profusion as in his 
younger days. 

While William Holcombe was not strictly of the house- 
hold of Forestfield, he had been adopted, as myself 
(though in a different form), into the family, and had 
been among us long enough to prove that Elizabeth had 
made no mistake in the choice of a husband, and that 
Cousin Jane had not blundered when she indorsed the 
new copartnership in the old summer-house nine years 
before. He was just passing the half-way station of life 
and had developed into a noble specimen of manhood, and 
we all still felt pleased that Cousin Jane had invited him 
to come and abide with us in the mansion. 

Of the slave population, I must not fail to mention 


FOEESTFIELD 


183 


Uncle Ned, the gardener; Aunt Caroline, the cook; Jim, 
the carriage driver, and Martha, the housemaid, all of 
whom were still living and doing well. 

As for myself, I may say that I had kept up with the 
procession, which had now brought me to the hilltop 
from which I could catch a glimpse of the decline of life 
as it sloped away into the depths and shadows of old age. 
Coming to Forestfield to teach the children of Cousin J ane 
for a few years, I had over-stayed my time, and was now 
teaching her grandchildren. Having no home of my own 
and no inheritance, save a few talents of learning, and be- 
ing a child of affliction, I was caught fast by the attractions 
of Forestfield, which drew me closer as the years went by. 

A grouping, this, of the chief characters who played 
their parts in the drama of my story, especially within the 
environments of Forestfield; and who shall chide me 
should I overlook their faults and magnify their virtues 
with deference to the adornment of these pages ? But alas ! 
I must now say: Exit peace! — enter war! 

When the news of the fall of Fort Sumter reached our 
neighborhood there was much excitement engendered. But 
when we heard of the call made by President Lincoln for 
seventy-five thousand troops with which to subjugate the 
seceded states, our indignation was boundless. 

The majority of the voters in northern Alabama were 
opposed to secession, but when their state seceded from 
the Union they went with it. They thought it more pa- 
triotic to fight for their own state than to join with the 
invader who had determined to force it back into the 
Union, and to this class all the responsible members of the 
household of Forestfield belonged. To be neutral was 
contrary to the chivalrous fiber of their Southern nature. 
But perhaps I had better except Cousin Jane, for while 
she was true to her native state and section, she was a 


184 


FORESTFIELD 


Quaker in sentiment and deprecated war of every kind. 
She hoped for some time that a reconciliation might be 
secured and the war averted, and in this hope I devoutly 
shared. Cousin Jane was so much opposed to war that, 
when Colonel Kelly came to our church to preach in his 
Confederate uniform, she left the building immediately 
after he entered the pulpit. 

I remember distinctly how my feelings vacillated as they 
were influenced by the alternating reports — favorable and 
unfavorable — ^that turned from side to side upon the pivot 
of uncertainty. I was not subject to military duty myself 
on account of personal affliction, and could not have been 
influenced by selflsh motives either way. If war should 
come I would not have the patriotic pleasure of flghting 
for my native state, and if war should not come I would 
not be disappointed in my military ambitions. I felt as I 
did when a schoolboy sitting under the shade of the trees, 
while my comrades prepared for the athletic game in 
which I was unable to bear my part. But my concern was 
centered upon the interest of my friends : those who should 
go and those who should stay. The former would be sub- 
ject to hardships, imprisonment and death; a going forth 
without a return; a farewell without its subsequent meet- 
ing. The latter must needs remain at home, suffer the 
deprivations of the blockade and bemoan the absence of 
those upon whom they leaned and whom they loved. 

But here would come rushing upon my heart the inspira- 
tion and pride of a patriotism that could not be restrained, 
and my decision would be: give us our rights under the 
Constitution and the flag or give us war! Yet that strange 
combination of words, civil war, I could not understand. 
But alas! I see clearly to-day that my ignorance has been 
enlightened, as I remember the devastation and woe that 
once lay in heaps along the flaming track of horrid war. 


FORESTFIELD 


185 


The springtime of 1861 was made more gorgeous and 
melodious than usual by the marching of soldiers in 
brilliant uniforms and the sound of fife and drum. An 
idea prevailed that a soldier should be dressed in red — 
complementary to the blood of the battlefield — and every 
volunteer company sought to display that sanguinary hue, 
especially in the belted coat. Some of calico, some of cam- 
bric and some of velvet showed the degrees of financial 
ability or the grades of penuriousness and prodigality that 
constituted the company. 

Attendance upon the drilling of awkward volunteers by 
ex-military cadets was the pastime of the people who 
crowded the mustergrounds to witness the training of their 
husbands, fathers, brothers, sons and sweethearts for the 
bloody field of war; and, although the smile of derision 
might have been excusible upon the mustergrounds, it was 
soon changed into huzzas for the same gallant boys upon 
the field of battle. 

William Holcombe, who was quite popular with all 
classes, immediately upon the call for volunteers by the 
Confederate government, raised a company and partially 
equipped it himself, of which he was unanimously elected 
captain. His brother Jesse was elected second lieutenant 
and Edward enlisted as a private. 

After Captain Holcombe had thoroughly organized and 
drilled his company (for he was an ex-cadet) the time ar- 
rived for their departure for the arena of war, and as the 
invasion of Virginia was first threatened by the Federals 
with the purpose of capturing Richmond, now the seat of 
the Confederate government, the Alabama troops were 
sent to assist in defending that state. But the marching 
in red coats and under plumes across the peaceful muster- 
grounds of home, stirred by the thrilling music of the fife 
and drum, was very different from bidding good-by to 


186 


FORESTFIELD 


relatives, friends and sweethearts and hastening away to 
the grim arena of war. 

The day appointed for the company to meet at the rail- 
road town preparatory to marching to the depot to hoard 
the cars had arrived, and what I shall write of the de- 
parture of our two soldiers shall suffice for the going of all 
the company. Forestfield represented, in this respect, all 
the broken households of the neighborhood, and the scene 
which it presented that morning was but a duplicate of 
many other Southern homes, and which was pathetic and 
brave. 

‘‘Of course, I shall not object to Edward’s going to the 
war,” said Cousin Jane, as she happened to meet me in 
the confusion of packing up, “if he feels it to be his duty.” 
And as she stood looking at me in a helpless way, holding 
a pincushion in her hand which she had prepared for her 
boy’s use when he could no longer ask her for a pin, my 
heart sank within me. 

“Of course not. Cousin Jane,” I replied, in as cheerful 
a tone as I could command, “for I think it is certainly his 
duty to go and defend his country. Besides, the great 
duties of life often require separation, absence and danger, 
and perhaps but I would not complete the sentence. 

Turning away from the anxious mother, I saw the duti- 
ful son moving about the house with a strong and coura- 
geous spirit, as if girding up his mind and heart for the 
final separation. Though his words sounded resolute, 
there was a tone of unsteadiness beneath that could not be 
concealed. But the young soldier’s departure was pe- 
culiarly affecting in that there were three strong but sensi- 
tive cords to be broken asunder : a mother’s love, a sister’s 
devotion and a sweetheart’s attachment; and he wisely 
sought the advantage of breaking but one of these cords at 
a time. 


FORESTFIELD 


187 


As Cousin Jane went into the dining-room to prepare a 
lunch for our departing soldiers, Edward followed her, 
and I felt that he was determined to take his final leave 
of his mother unobserved, for there is a shame-facedness 
in grief which we all experience, however incongruous it 
may appear. Standing by his mother as she stood by the 
sideboard, the brave-hearted son said in a firm voice : 

"Mother, I have come to tell you good-by where no one 
can see us. I could not bear to be stared at while bidding 
you farewell. Of course, I’m not ashamed of it,” he apol- 
ogized, "but you understand me, mother.” He then broke 
down and his tears, which could no longer be restrained, 
flowed copiously in response to those of his mother. 

When she had partially recovered her feelings Cousin 
Jane replied: 

"I appreciate your feelings, my son, and I think you are 
right. There are some things far too sacred for the gaze 
of the world.” And, taking Edward by the hand, she 
added : "Let us kneel down for a short time in prayer and 
then I shall feel more resigned to your going.” They knelt 
and prayed, strength entered both their hearts and they 
arose to say "good-by.” With a strong embrace and a 
sweet kiss from his mother, the young man turned and 
walked from the room with a soldier’s step and bearing in 
obedience to the call of his country. And no Spartan 
mother ever dedicated her son to the love of native land 
with more resolution and sacrifice when she bade him re- 
turn a corpse upon his shield rather than surrender it than 
did this Southern mother of the plantation of Forestfield. 
She did not bid him die before he should surrender, but she 
gave him to understand that he must perish before dishon- 
oring the flag under which he had enlisted. And from 
this sad and hallowed spot the young patriot went forth 
with an enthusiasm and a resolution unknown to the world 


188 FORESTFIELD 

until the dawn of peace was startled by a new species of 
heroism. 

Hastening to Elizabeth’s room, where she was getting 
Captain Holcombe ready, Edward took the advantage of 
the captain’s temporar}^ absence, kissed his sister, bade 
her farewell and turned to look for Alice, whom he found 
alone in the parlor nursing her grief all to herself; but as 
he had talked to his younger sister so frequently about his 
departure for the war, and had encouraged her to take 
rather a romantic view of the subject, he did not dread 
this third separation so much. So after embracing Alice 
tenderly, giving her two or three kisses and pressing her 
hand with the murmured word, ^‘good-by,” he turned 
and hastened toward the carriage at the gate, shaking 
hands with the slaves in attendance as he passed on. Alice, 
poor girl, whose grief became unrestrained when she saw 
that her brother had really gone, drew her chair to the 
parlor window and closed the blinds, leaving just enough 
space to enable her to watch, through her tears, the de- 
parture of the carriage without being observed herself. 

My leave-taking of the young soldier whom I loved so 
much had transpired in substance the night before, when 
we held, in my room, a private conversation upon the sub- 
ject; and as I was to accompany him and the captain to 
the depot, our leave-taking was not renewed at the house. 

^^Cousin Morris,” said Edward, upon the occasion re- 
ferred to, “I feel that my going to the war is no child’s 
play, but that it is a most serious undertaking, and it 
seems to me that in order to fully do my duty as a soldier 
I should determine never to surrender to the enemy. It is 
true that I may be killed or wounded and thus fall helpless 
into the hands of the enemy, but to surrender in my full 
strength would be to compromise the principles for which 
I go to defend. It seems to me,” he went on, ‘‘that what- 


FORESTFIELD 189 

ever is right in principle is always right, and that to sur- 
render to the enemy would be to forfeit it.” 

^^What you say, Edward,” I replied, ^^may be correct in 
theory, but it is impracticable. I think it just as noble in 
a champion to submit when he is overpowered as to fight 
unto the death. Nothing is ever gained by attempting the 
impossible. If the North should overpower the South I 
think the latter should submit to her fate and make the 
best of it, and vice versa. And I believe that, by and by, 
when you have witnessed the horrors of war, you will 
change your views.” 

^‘Never, Cousin Morris!” was the determined rejoinder. 

shall never surrender to the enemy!” 

With this unconquerable spirit of heroism the young 
soldier went to the front, to either prove or disprove the 
correctness of his theory. 

But there was another tender cord to be severed and the 
agony of the young patriot’s departure would, in a sense, 
be over. He must yet take leave of his little sweetheart, 
^^Mary Bee.” For a purpose I shall not reveal her family 
name just here. Mary Bee lived immediately on the road 
that led from Forestfield to Hunterstown and about a 
mile and a half from the former. The arrangement had 
been made between the two for her to be at her father’s 
front gate that morning when Edward should pass; but, 
wishing to carry out his plan of taking individual fare- 
wells, he left the carriage standing at the gate at Forest- 
field and said that he would walk on ahead until the car- 
riage should overtake him. 

Upon coming in view of the appointed gate, and seeing 
Mary Bee waiting there as she had promised, a great lump 
rose in the young soldier’s throat and produced a sensa- 
tion which he could hardly distinguish from pain or pleas- 
ure. There was a mingled gladness and sadness that he 


190 


FOEESTFIELD 


could not well separate. Approaching the gate and com- 
ing to a halt, he gave his sweetheart an awkward military 
salute and said: ^^And you are here, sure enough, Mary 
Beer 

course I am,’’ she replied; '^Dut if you are going to 
doubt my word in that way I shall go hack to the house 
this minute.” This was said in an affectionate, petulant 
tone for the sole purpose of keeping hack her tears. 

“I didn’t mean to doubt your word,” rejoined Edward; 
‘T said that because I was glad to see you.” 

^^Oh, well, that’s all right; I was just funning,” was the 
pleasing explanation. 

The two young people stood and talked, and talked, and 
talked, as if they did not wish to leave a word unsaid, yet 
wishing that the ordeal of separation were over. And 
when the carriage appeared in the distance how their sad 
yet happy hearts did throb in anticipation of that separa- 
tion which might never he repaired. 

As Edward had no intention of waiting for the carriage 
at that place and allow its passengers to witness his final 
leave-taking of Mary Bee, he drew a long breath, swal- 
lowed a lump of nothing and remarked: 

will have to go now, Mary Bee; so good-hy.” And 
he held out his hand, which she took and tightly grasped. 
Whether, to offer to kiss her or not he could hardly decide, 
and the carriage was now rapidly approaching; hut what 
he decided to do must be done quickly or his plan of a 
private farewell would be upset. He had been taught the 
decorum of a gentleman, but here, he thought, was an ex- 
ceptional case which might excuse him for offering to kiss 
his sweetheart as he departed for the war and might never 
see her again. But the instincts of a gentleman finally 
triumphed, and, lifting the little hand to his lips, he im- 
printed a kiss upon that, said ^'good-by” and started down 


FORESTFIELD 


191 


the road. But every few steps, as long as he was in sight 
of his beloved, he threw back imaginary kisses, to which 
she every time responded. The curve in the road soon shut 
out the young soldier’s form from the view of his sweet- 
heart, and she turned with tearful eyes and went hack into 
the house. The carriage soon overtook Edward, when he 
jumped in and we rolled rapidly toward town to meet the 
train. 

Upon arriving in town Captain Holcombe lost no time 
in calling his company together and preparing them to 
hoard the train in military style. Forming the men into 
files of fours near the armory, with shouldered guns glit- 
tering in the sunlight and their new gray uniforms at- 
tracting every eye, he marched them along the principal 
streets, crowded with spectators, and soon reached the 
depot. Here the men were ordered to ^‘stack arms,” and 
were allowed to mingle freely among relatives and friends 
who had assembled to see them off. 

While the most painful phases of separation had no 
doubt passed at the homes of most of the men, this was 
the summing up of all that had been done or said in a 
general public farewell, but no one was expected to be 
demonstrative here in a private way. But when Edward 
saw the sweethearts of his comrades placing bouquets in 
the button-holes of their coats and laughing and talking 
with affected glee, he could not but wish that Mary Bee 
was there to show that he was not entirely forgotten; and 
as he stood off to himself looking rather disconsolate two 
young ladies approached him and kindly offered to pin a 
fiower each upon his coat, which he gladly permitted with 
thanks. But when they turned away the tears began to 
fiow afresh as he thought of Alice and Mary Bee, one of 
whom he had left grieving at home and the other standing 
at her father’s gate throwing kisses at him. 


192 


FORESTFIELD 


Suddenly there was the sound of a whistle; the head of 
a locomotive appeared down the track; a train loaded with 
new-made soldiers and decorated with the red, white and 
blue rolled up to the depot and stopped. The men of the 
new company, at the command of Captain Holcombe, 
rushed to the train and crowded on the coaches designed 
for them. The conductor shouted ^^All aboard!’^ and the 
train began to move; the hats of gentlemen and the hand- 
kerchiefs of ladies waved in the air; the last coach disap- 
peared beyond the first curve in the railroad, and many a 
boyish soldier passed out of the sight of friends, perhaps 
never to return. I could not hut think of what Edward 
had said upon our last interview : ‘^Cousin Morris, I shall 
never surrender to the enemy!” 

After the departure of the soldiers there seemed to he a 
strange feeling of bereavement that pervaded the whole 
neighborhood, with the evidences of helplessness every- 
where, that was unknown before. We all realized that the 
vigor and dash of young manhood had departed, and that 
the decrepitude of age was left as the only protector of 
the land. Upon our return home Jim said that ^‘he felt 
jest lak he’d been to a barial.” 


FOEESTFIELD 


193 


CHAPTER II. 

A DISCUSSION AND A VISION. 

A S we assembled upon the veranda at Forestfield the 
following evening after our soldiers had departed 
for the front, our neighbor, Mr. Wise, came in to 
sit with us until bedtime, as he frequently did. He was 
unusually welcome this evening, as we were glad to have 
our minds drawn away from the sad episode of the day be- 
fore by his presence and conversation. 

Mr. Wise, having been born and reared in England, and 
having spent some time in the Northern states, was nat- 
urally an Abolitionist, and he lost no time in discussing the 
great question which so much agitated both the North and 
the South. He believed, without doubt, that the North 
was waging the civil war for no other purpose than to free 
the negro. The mother country, he argued, had emanci- 
pated her slaves in all her dominions, and he thought the 
daughter should follow her example. But while Mr. Wise 
was an Abolitionist in principle, he did not favor extreme 
measures, as did Dr. Northcut, who had brought disaster 
to himself on account of his rashness. 

As for myself, who had been taught to accept if not to 
believe in slavery, I was in favor of emancipation, pro- 
vided it could be accomplished without a shock to our 
American civilization in breaking asunder the fraternal 
ties between the sections. Mr. Wise must have freedom for 
the negro at the risk of the dissolution of the Union, and 
he urged the position with so much enthusiasm and adroit- 


194 


FOEESTFIELD 


ness that I dreaded somewhat to undertake to debate the 
question with him single-handed. But as William Hol- 
combe and Edward were both gone now, I had to do the 
best I could; and upon this evening our conversation, 
guided by our visitor, soon turned toward the supposed 
motive for which the war was being waged. 

^‘Mr. Wise,’’ I said, “I’m in favor of freeing the negro, 
provided it can he done gradually. To turn suddenly upon 
the South such a horde of ignorant creatures, unable to 
take care of themselves, would be disastrous to both master 
and slave and a source of much trouble to the country. I 
am not willing to leave the rising generation of either race 
to contend with such a condition of things.” 

“Gradual emancipation!” exclaimed Mr. Wise, with a 
sharp interjection. “That would never do, for it would 
create such a state of jealousy between the slaves and the 
freedmen that there would he no peace among them. Fur- 
thermore,” he continued, “if slavery is an evil, which all 
should admit, let it be abolished as thoroughly and as 
soon as possible.” 

“Are there not many free negroes in the South now?” I 
asked. “Yet you do not see that jealousy which you so 
much fear prevailing to any great extent. The slaves and 
the freedmen seem to get along together very peaceably.” 

“But look at Great Britain in this respect,” replied Mr. 
Wise, with much British ego; “she never does things by 
halves. Whenever she wishes to carry out a policy of gov- 
ernment she speaks and it is done, and that’s the way her 
slaves were emancipated. If slavery is ever abolished in 
this country it must come by proclamation.” 

Following this burst of enthusiasm by Mr. Wise there 
was a lull in the conversation, for the discussion was grow- 
ing too warm and I hesitated to add more fuel to the fire. 

Sitting upon the door-step with hat in hand — privi- 


FOBESTFIELD 


195 ' 


lege which he often enjoyed — ^was Uncle Ned, the gar- 
dener, who was the oldest and perhaps the most intelligent 
negro on the plantation; and, fully conscious of his race 
being the subject of conversation that night, the old man 
sat and leaned upon his stick in a thoughtful mood, listen- 
ing attentively to the discussion and throwing in a remark 
now and then that was so quaint and philosophical as to 
check it and turn it awry, and, taking advantage of the 
lull in the debate, he remarked with characteristic defer- 
ence and humility: 

“Wal, marsters, I tell you; I don’t see how we po’ nig- 
gers ever gwine ter git free, ’ceptin’ Gaud in heaven speaks 
de word. You see,” he went on, “de white folks ain’t 
gwine ter be willin’ to give up dar property fur nuthin’, 
an’ nobody ain’t gwine ter pay ’em fur it. Marse Wise an’ 
de Northern folks wants us sot free, to be sho’; but dey 
ain’t willin’ to pull de money outen dar pockets an’ pay 
fur us. An’ dat whut makes me say whut I does. Dar 
ain’t no chance fur de slaves, ’ceptin’ Gaud in heaven send 
anuther Moses, an’ say to de white folks, ‘Let my chillun 
go!’ An’ ef you all ’scuse old Ned fur ’ruptin’ of you any 
furder, he’ll show you how dat is.” 

“Go on. Uncle Ned,” we both spoke in concert, “we 
should like to hear you.” 

“Wal, I wuz gwine ter say, dis here freedom ’minds me 
of a tale whut I heerd my young marster read in old Fir- 
ginny. Dar wuz a man gwine along, he say, an’ he come 
across a man wid a big eagle ’fined in a cage. An’ de big 
eagle wuz walkin’ back’ards and foFards in de cage; an’ 
every now and den he look fur away to’ards de high moun- 
t’ins whar he used to be free. An’ ev’y time he look fur 
away he look lak he wuz homesick. De man stop an’ 
look at de big eagle an’ say to tother man : ‘I’m so sorry 
to see dis here eagle ’fined in a cage, fur he look so home- 


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sick. Why don’t you open de do’ an’ let him fly hack to 
de mount’ins whar he used to be free?’ 

‘You’re fool,’ said tother man, ^dat eagle cos’ me 
twenty-five dollars; you reck’n I’m gwine ter turn him 
aloose fur nuthin’?’ 

^Wal,’ said de fust man, ^ain’t you ’shamed to keep dat 
po’ eagle ’fined in a cage jest fur twenty-five dollars? 
How’d you lak to he ’fined in jail, away frum your home, 
an’ never ’lowed to go back dar no mo’? You ought to he 
’shamed of yourse’f.’ 

^Wal,’ said tother man, ^ef you wants to turn dis here 
eagle loose, you gim me twenty-five dollars an’ I’ll let you 
open de do’. Now show your faith by your wucks.’ 

^Aw,’ said de fust man, ‘I ain’t gwine ter pay you to 
turn dat eagle loose; ef you ain’t good ’nough to turn him 
loose fur nuthin’, I ain’t gwine to pay you.’ 

‘‘Dat’s de way ’tis, marsters,” continued Uncle Ned, 
^Vid dis here freedom. Ef de nigger is ever sot free Gaud 
in heaven gwine ter speak de word.” 

This quaint illustration of the old negro did indeed turn 
the discussion awry and caused us all to think of the sub- 
ject in a new light. 

‘T believe you are right. Uncle Ned,” I remarked; ‘fit 
does seem that if this great question is -ever settled right, 
God must intervene.” 

“Yes, he’s right,” added Mr. Wise, thoughtfully; “I fear 
the negro is the eagle in the cage.” 

“Uncle Ned,” said Cousin Jane, in her candid and heart- 
felt manner, “I wouldn’t object to the negroes being free 
if you and Aunt Caroline would stay with me the rest of 
your lives. I couldn’t bear the thought of parting with 
you two.” 

“Much obleged to you. Miss Jane,” replied the old man, 
as he wiped his forehead with his cotton handkerchief and 


FORESTFIELB 


197 


then placed it hack in his hat. ^^But yon needn’t to he 
afeerd of me an’ Ca’line leavin’ dis place, twell dey kwars 
us to de graveyard, an’ den we’ll still he here. I’m got all 
de freedom,” he continued, “dat I wants in dis world, 
’ceptin’ freedom frum sin an’ de devil.” He then rose up, 
put his hat on and returned to his cabin. 

As it was now growing late, Mr. Wise arose soon after 
Uncle Ned left and returned home. The family then fol- 
lowed their example and retired also. As my custom was, 
I read a passage of Scripture before retiring that night, 
which proved to be the eighth chapter of Revelation. 

The earnest discussion of the subject of emancipation 
just engaged in, with the simple parable of the caged eagle 
related by the old negro, connected with the passage of 
Scripture read, so impressed my mind that they came back 
to me that night, as it were, in a vision upon my bed. 

I thought in my dream that it was night and that a 
dense mist rose up and obscured the entire heavens, so 
that neither moon nor stars were visible, but that the mist 
was translucent and illuminated, as it were, by its own 
light. 

Then there appeared along the horizon of the north a 
great army of men, as it were, some on foot, some on the 
backs of horses and some driving upon wheels that bore 
the great guns of artillery; and, as the ripened heads of the 
harvest field bend before the wind, every man bent for- 
ward looking, as it were, far away toward the south; and 
over the great army fioated a magnificent banner studded 
with many stars of light and crossed with many bands of 
fire, and emblazoned upon its folds was the word. Free- 
dom! And I saw upon the barb of the staff thereof the 
wreath of victory with not a leaf withered by the fires of 
defeat. 

And I saw that many of the men waved their swords 


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FOKESTFIELD 


above their heads, and that thousands more lifted glitter- 
ing points of steel before their faces, and in the midst of 
the host were the visages of many nations. 

And I thought in my dream that I saw another army 
like unto the first — ^but not so numerous — ^rise out of the 
south and march forward as if to meet the army from the 
north, and their visages were as the face of one man. 
These, also, were on foot, and on horses, and upon the 
wheels of artillery; and they followed, as it were, a banner 
of red, white and blue, crossed by two bands of fire, and 
upon this banner was inscribed the word. Bondage! 

And as I looked toward the region of the zenith, mid- 
way between the marching hosts, I beheld a frowning 
castle with lofty battlements and grated windows, and I 
saw, as it were, dark human faces peering out and dark- 
ened hands beckoning toward the northern army, and I 
heard them cry: ‘‘Haste! haste! haste!” 

Suddenly there rose the sound of the tramp of a multi- 
tude approaching, as it were, from the north and from 
the south; and, commingled with it, like unto the sound 
of many waters, was the shout of many thousands, that 
caused the firmament to tremble; and, hard upon the wake 
of the many voices, I heard the detonations of a thousand 
thunders that shook the foundations - of the earth and 
troubled the depths of the ocean. 

And I saw in my dream hurtling across the startled 
skies, as it were, a myriad of fiery meteors brighter than 
the evening star and like unto burning shafts of lightning 
hurled from the forge of heaven. And I saw, as they 
rushed along, that they bended their opposing courses 
downward and plunged into the serried ranks of the ap- 
proaching armies with death and carnage. 

And I beheld, on either side of the advancing columns, 
prostrate bodies of men lying side by side as if awaiting 


FORESTFIELD 


199 


their burial. And I saw that their cheeks were pallid, their 
brows contorted and their mouths dumb with anguish; 
and as their living comrades marched between them others 
fell from their ranks as grain before the reaper; and I 
heard a concert of voices, as from the tongues of many na- 
tions, crying: “Oh, the carnage! the carnage! the car- 
nage!” 

And I beheld, as it were, hovering over the columns of 
the dead, a woman with white wings and arms of alabaster, 
like unto Eachel weeping for her children, and would not 
be comforted. And I saw that, as the woman flew from 
one host to the other, she bore in her hand the vial of 
mercy, and with her there was no respect of persons. 

And I beheld the militant hosts draw nearer and yet 
nearer together, and at last to surge as two mighty waves 
of the sea about the grim Castle of Bondage in deadly con- 
flict; and amid the dense black smoke, like unto an angry 
storm-cloud mingled with flame, I saw the banner of Free- 
dom sink downward and the banner of Bondage rise up- 
ward. 

And I beheld and saw that the conflict waxed more and 
more, as it were man to man, until the tempest of fire, and 
smoke, and blood, and anguish, and death swept over the 
loftiest battlements and the Castle of Bondage shook unto 
its foundations. And I heard a mighty yell go up from 
the ranks of the hopeful that stunned the hearts of their 
antagonists and forced them to waver upon the verge of 
victory. And I heard a shout come up, as from the aston- 
ished nations of the earth, saying: “Huzza! huzza! huzza! 
for the valor of the red-cross banner of Bondage!” 

Then I beheld, as it were, advancing from the north 
another great army like unto the first, all girded with 
strength unto the battle, and as they who rush to the help 
of the vanquished on came that mighty army to the help 


200 


FORESTFIELD 


of their brothers. And I saw the banner of Freedom, all 
tattered and torn, rise once more in triumph over the 
tempest of battle, and I saw the banner of Bondage sink 
down again to rise no more forever. Then I beheld the 
strong doors of the castle wrenched from their hinges and 
the shackled bondmen rush out to their liberty, crying: 
^Tree! free! free!” Then I beheld the castle tremble, as it 
were, from top to bottom, and with the sound of ten thou- 
sand thunders it crumbled to the earth and was seen no 
more. 

When I awoke the next morning and my dream came 
hack to me I could not refrain from relating it at the 
breakfast table. The family thought it quite remarkable, 
and Cousin Jane expressed much faith in it and inter- 
preted it as signifying that the war would certainly result 
in the freedom of the negro. 

At this I protested that I was no prophet nor the son of 
a prophet, but if dreams of significance would come to me 
I could only submit and wait to see their fulfillment or 
their failure.. 

Alice, who was an enthusiastic little ^^rebel,” seemed 
somewhat offended at my denominating the Confederate 
flag the banner of bondage,” and I had to make haste to 
explain. I told her that I applied the term bondage to the 
flag only as it represented the South as fighting to main- 
tain the institution of slavery. And I gave her to under- 
stand that I believed as much in the cause of the South as 
she did. This was satisfactory, and she said no more 
about it. 


FOKESTFIELD 


201 


CHAPTEE III. 

AFTER THE BATTLE. 

O CFK soldiers left for the front in Virginia about the 
first of June, 1861; but before they had time to 
become accustomed to camp-life or to discipline 
the great battle of Manassas occurred, on the 21st of July. 

Through this battle, the first important one of the war, 
Captain Holcombe’s company, which was attached to the 
Fourth Alabama regiment, passed with much credit. 
Among the casualties of the day were six killed and fifteen 
wounded of this company, and among the dead was found 
one of our neighbor boys, Jackson P. Saunders. While 
this young soldier was not connected with our household, 
he was our acquaintance and friend, and had stood shoulder 
to shoulder with “our soldiers” among the missiles of 
death. And as we contemplated how near death had ap- 
proached “our own,” when it cut their comrades down at 
their side, our hearts shuddered with alarm. This was a 
great victory for the South, but the source of great grief 
to many a household. 

The first news of the battle which we received through 
private channels was contained in a letter from Edward to 
his little sweetheart, Mary Bee. Captain Holcombe was 
too busy to write immediately after the fight, having to 
attend to many official duties that crowded upon him. But 
Edward, being a private, had little else to do but sit and 
contemplate the dangers through which he had passed, to 
congratulate himself upon the great victory which he had 


202 


FOEESTFIELD 


helped to win, and to wonder what his sweetheart and 
friends at home thought of the great event. 

Mary Bee came over to Forestfield one day to bring the 
letter she had received from Edward and to read a portion 
of it to the family. Of course, there was a part upon 
which no other eyes would he allowed to look, save those 
of her mother. And she felt a little vain to he the first to 
receive a letter from our soldiers after the battle. 

When Mary Bee came into the house, holding the letter 
up and smiling, we were satisfied that she had received 
good news from the front, and without waiting for her 
to announce as much Alice ran to meet her and ex- 
claimed : 

know you have a letter from Edward, Mary Bee, and 
that it contains good news. I can tell from the way you 
smile.” 

^‘You’re a good guesser, Alice,” replied the visitor, as 
she tapped her friend upon the cheek with the envelope. 
‘^Come here and I wiU read some of it to you,” she added, 
as she took a chair. 

‘^Some of it! Why not all of it? Isn’t it from my 
brother?” rejoined Alice, with affected indignation. 

‘^Yes, hut when he writes to you, you don’t read all his 
letter to me,” was the defensive reply. 

‘^But he hasn’t written to me,” complained Alice, with 
some seriousness. 

^‘Come over here close to me, Mary Bee, and I shall not 
let Alice read your letter,” interposed Cousin Jane. She 
obeyed, opened the letter and read the following extracts; 

^^My dearest Ma — ” (oh ! I didn’t intend to say that, and 
laughed) ‘‘yesterday we fought a great battle and won a 
great victory; and I hasten to let you know that I was not 
killed. It seemed to me that I was in the thickest of the 


FORESTFIELD 


203 


fight. My gun was shot out of my hands, and I picked up 
the gun of another man who was killed by my side. 

^^Our regiment was under Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, and 
we had to march all night and all day before we reached 
the neighborhood of Manassas Junction, and upon the 
morning of the battle we had to double-quick four miles 
before we reached the battlefield. 

^‘When we got there our men were about to retreat, but 
the Yankees soon gave way before our fresh troops. Sev- 
eral of our company were killed and many wounded. 
Brother William Holcombe was not hurt, nor was his 
brother Jesse. 

^‘When I was going into the battle I felt afraid; but 
when I got into it all fear left me. But I am not anxious 
to go through another battle. 

^^How I do wish’^ — (oh! I’ll not read that — ^let me see. — 
yes) ^^While I write I am sitting on my bunk, and as it 
shakes so, you will please excuse my handwriting * * * 

^^If you see any of our folks tell them I am safe and 
sound, and will write to them soon. 

^^Hoping to hear from my sw — ”(oh! let me see — ^yes), 
* * * I remain 

^^Edward Pemrose.” 

^^You haven’t read half of that letter, Mary Bee,” pro- 
tested Alice, as she pretended to snatch it from her hand. 
“Never mind, w^hen I receive a letter from somebody soon 
you shan’t hear a line of it.” 

Mary Bee placed the letter into the envelope, thrust it 
into her pocket and replied: “I don’t care. I’ll get an- 
other one by that time.” 

A few days later two other letters came to Forestfield 
from the front, one from Captain Holcombe to Elizabeth 


204 


FOEESTFIELD 


and the other from Edward to his mother. Edward’s let- 
ter contained about the same news as did the one he wrote 
to Mary Bee, with a lame excuse why he did not write to 
his home-folks first. But Captain Holcombe’s letter gave 
all the important particulars of the great battle, from 
which I shall give here some extracts : 

^^Last Sunday,” wrote Captain Holcombe, fought 
the first great battle of the war and gained a great victory. 
The Federals, who it is said had about sixty thousand men, 
were completely routed by the Confederates, who had only 
about thirty thousand. 

^^Our regiment — ^the Fourth Alabama — ^performed a 
most gallant and conspicuous part in the battle. It is 
said that it suffered more than any other regiment en- 
gaged, and that it held five to one at bay until reinforce- 
ments could be sent to relieve it. Its losses were thirty- 
six killed and one hundred and fifty wounded. All of its 
field officers — Col. Egbert J. Jones, Lieut. Col. E. M. Law 
and Maj. Charles L. Scott — ^w^ere wounded and disabled, 
when the command of the regiment fell upon Captain 
Goldsby, who gallantly led it until the close of the battle. 
In my company six were killed and fifteen wounded. Jack 
Saunders being among the former, who fell in the per- 
formance of his duty. Indeed, our entire company acted 
nobly, and I am glad to say that Edward acted remarkably 
well. Someone said that he behaved like a veteran. 

^^Gen. Thomas J. Jackson, of the Virginia forces, 
won much distinction for himself and men; and as they 
held their ground firmly, Gen. Barnard E. Bee, who was 
rallying our regiment, exclaimed; ‘See General Jackson 
standing like a stone wall,’ and in a few moments Bee fell 
mortally wounded. 

“That I may be more accurate in the account of the 


FOKESTFIELD 


205 


conduct of the Fourth Alabama, I will quote from the 
official report made by Captain Goldshy, commanding the 
regiment. He reserved a duplicate and kindly let me have 
the use of it. He says: 

^On Sunday, the 21st, immediately after breakfast, we 
received the order to fall in with knapsacks and arms and 
take up the line of march toward where the fire of the 
enemy first opened. After marching in that direction for 
three or four miles, most of the distance in double-quick 
time, our course was suddenly changed toward the left of 
our line of battle, to which we marched a distance of some 
two miles in quick and double-quick time. The day being 
exceedingly hot and the supply of water small, the men 
arrived on the battlefield much exhausted. The enemy 
were directly in front of us in overpowering numbers — 
Sherman’s battery fully commanding our position, sup- 
ported by immense bodies of infantry. 

^Hardly had we halted and formed before the order 
came to advance, which we did in double-quick time, 
through the open field, to within a hundred yards of the 
enemy’s line, where we were commanded to lie down. The 
firing at once became general — our men rising to fire and 
lying down to load. 

‘For an hour and a half the regiment sustained the 
most galling and destructive fire. Our brave men fell in 
great numbers, but they died as the brave love to die — 
with their faces to the foe, fighting in the holy cause of 
liberty. I judge, from the incessant and tremendous fire 
that was kept up by the enemy, that we were greatly out- 
numbered. At last, outfianked on the right and left and 
exposed to fire from three sides, we were ordered to fall 
back. Our gallant Colonel Jones, who during the hottest 
of the engagement sat conspicuously on his horse as calm 
as a statue gi'vdng orders, now fell severely wounded. 


206 


FOEESTFIELD 


retired in good order through the woods on our 
left and descended a hill and again formed in line of battle. 
On our right, as we descended the hill, we observed two 
regiments drawn up in line of battle, where we expected 
to find reinforcements and which we confidently regarded 
as friends. They returned our signal, and we were on the 
point of forming behind them, when, as we unfurled our 
flag, they opened a murderous fire upon our ranks, killing 
some and wounding many, among the latter being Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Law and Major Scott, both of whom had 
displayed great gallantry and had done much to inspire us 
by their example. 

‘Left now without field officers and almost surrounded 
by the enemy, we fell back again through a pine wood to 
an open field, where we awaited orders. By this time the 
thirst of the men was intense and almost intolerable. 

“ ‘At this time General Bee rode up to the regiment and 
inquired what body of troops we were. Being told that we 
were what was left of the Fourth Alabama, he informed us 
that we were all of his brigade that he could find. He 
then requested us to follow him back to where the firing 
was going on. Whereupon he placed himself upon the left 
of our line and marched us by the left flank to where the 
fight was raging around Sherman’s battery. As we were 
nearing the scene a train of artillery that was falling back 
cut our line in two and separated the left company from 
the rest of the regiment. This company, with our general 
at its head, obliqued to the right upon the open plain and 
proceeded about one hundred yards, when our gallant com- 
mander fell mortally wounded. 

“‘Deprived as we then were of our brigadier general, 
colonel, lieutenant colonel and major, and not knowing 
our friends from our foes, and exposed to a murderous fire 
with no opportunity to return it, we marched back, re- 


FOKESTFIELD 


207 


formed our line and awaited orders. We remained on the 
field until the battle ceased, thin in ranks, hut always in 
perfect organization. 

‘The regiment was exposed to a heavy fire for seven or 
eight hours, and during the whole time the officers and 
men exhibited the most admirable coolness and gallantry. 
>ic He 4c 4: 4: ^ H: 

“ ‘The list of the killed and wounded will testify that 
the regiment did not shrink from sealing with its best 
blood its devotion to the cause. * * * would be 

invidious to enumerate individual acts of heroism where 
every man did his duty.^ 

“The above report of Captain Goldsby is no doubt as 
accurate a report of a battle as could be given, and espe- 
cially so when the writer bore himself with so much cool- 
ness as did the captain. 

“Though we gained a great victory, I did not feel like 
exulting over the defeated enemy, when I saw so many of 
them l3dng dead on the ground. I walked over the field 
the next day, and for four or five miles the dead lay scat- 
tered all over the ground. The slaughter was terrific on 
the side of the enemy and very considerable on our side. 
War is certainly awful in its consequences. I trust that 
some compromise may be reached before the war lasts 
much longer. 

“I am enjoying camp-life very much, and feel much 
better than when I first came out. Kiss the children for 
me and tell them to be good and not to forget their father. 

“Your affectionate husband, 

“William Holcombe.’^ 

A few days after the receipt of Captain Holcombe’s let- 
ter, Frank Saunders arrived with the remains of his 
brother Jack, to be interred in the family burying-ground. 


208 


FORESTFIELD 


I have said that Jack Saunders was not connected with 
the household of Forestfield, but in a sense I was mis- 
taken. He had set his affections upon the flower of our 
family, and they had been sincerely reciprocated. And 
when Captain Holcombe’s letter was received by Elizabeth 
she withheld the sad news of the death of the young sol- 
dier from Alice for some time, dreading the effect upon 
her sensitive nature. But some of the neighbors who were 
not so prudent or who did not know the circumstances in- 
formed her and the shock came. 

I shall not intrude upon the sacred retirement of grief 
by endeavoring to portray the emotions of a stricken 
heart, but shall leave it to its own anguish and the reader 
to his own reflections. Yet I beg leave to recall a remark 
made by Alice upon the receipt of a letter from Edward 
by Mary Bee, when the latter laughingly refused to read it 
all to our household. ‘‘Never mind,” said Alice, “when 
I receive a letter from somebody soon you shan’t hear a 
line of it.” 

Alas! that letter from somebody never came. The young 
soldier who would have written it in the flush of victory 
now lay cold in death, and' it remained for his captain to 
send his name home to his friends wreathed in the sen- 
tences of praise. 

When the body of Jack Saunders arrived all prepara- 
tions for its interment had been made, as a telegram had 
been sent to that effect. The grave had been dug under 
the willows, in the midst of his sleeping kindred. The 
minister had been requested to conduct the funeral serv- 
ices at the house of his parents and to conclude them at 
the grave. Notices had been sent out to friends and 
neighbors; and, as becometh a soldier’s burial, a squad 
of Confederates from Hunterstown were invited to be pres- 
ent and to Are a salute over the new-made grave. This 


FORESTFIELD 


209 


was the first object lesson from the tragedy of war pre- 
sented to the neighborhood of Forestfield. 

The funeral occurred upon an unusually beautiful and 
quiet summer afternoon. The skies were deeply blue and 
flecked with soft and high-sailing clouds, in whose very 
motion there was rest. And on account of the advanced 
season a cool and refreshing temperature had settled upon 
the earth that made one feel as if the autumn had crept 
upon him unawares. It seemed to be an ideal day — if 
there be such — for the burial of the dead. 

AU of us from Forestfield attended the funeral, includ- 
ing Alice, who needed some persuasion, as the relationship 
she bore to the deceased was peculiar. Besides, she was 
rather modest in regard to the matter of her affection for 
the young soldier. Without any funereal regalia what- 
ever, except a veil, perhaps, she attended the obsequies. 

The funeral remarks of the minister were very appro- 
priate and eloquent, and as soon as convenient I requested 
him to write them out and give me a copy, which I here 
reproduce for the benefit of the reader. He said : 

Friends: — We have met to-day to pay the last 
tribute of respect to the memory of Jackson P. Saunders, 
who fell upon the battlefield of Manassas fighting in de- 
fense of his country. He had just reached his majority, 
and life lay before him with all its hopeful ambitions, 
which fact gives his death a sadder and a more regretful 
aspect. 

‘Tt is not necessary for me to dwell upon his character, 
for he was your neighbor and your friend, and was known 
of you as an upright Christian young man. And we have 
great hope that he is to-day at rest in our Heavenly Fa- 
ther’s house. And I am glad to say that I can, in the 
presence of his dead body, and without reservation, rec- 


210 


FORESTFIELD 


ommend to you his short but virtuous life as a model for 
your emulation. To you, especially, young men and young 
ladies, do I commend his noble character, because of your 
intimate associations with him while he lived in your 
midst. 

‘^But Jackson P. Saunders was a soldier, too, and one 
who proved by his conduct in camp and his behavior upon 
the field that he was fully worthy of the title. And allow 
me to say that, since the day it was necessary for man to 
go to war in vindication of his inalienable rights, a nobler 
band has never shouldered arms in defense of their coun- 
try, their families and their firesides than the volunteers 
of the Southern Confederacy. And no more honorable 
winding-sheet has ever wrapped the dead form of the 
brave than the gray uniform that now shrouds the body of 
Jackson P. Saunders. 

‘The grave of a true soldier, who gave his life for a cause 
that was just, is the most vivid symbol of heroism in every 
age and clime. But the plot of ground where lie the ashes 
of a Confederate soldier is that symbol emphasized with a 
chivalry born alone of the South, and that has never been 
surpassed on the battlefields of the world! Then upon 
the grave of this, our worthy hero, who, with his fallen 
comrades, should never be forgotten while duty has a 
votary and patriotism a champion, we would lay this hum- 
ble tribute of our devoted affection. And as the fragrance 
of those lovely flowers upon the casket ascends like incense 
to the skies, may it bear upon its invisible wings the as- 
surance that the soul and honor of him who sleeps within 
is immortal.’^ 

At the close of the minister’s address the services ended, 
temporarily, with a beautiful and appropriate hymn, and 
the congregation was dismissed to reassemble at the grave, 


FORESTFIELD 


211 


where the exercises would he concluded. Six youths of 
about sixteen years of age (for there were few young men 
in the neighborhood) then bore the casket to the grave, 
which was but a short distance from the house. 

The remarks of the minister made a profound impress 
sion upon the audience, and at its close many eyes were 
bathed in tears. Especially were the remarks comforting 
to Alice, who rejoiced in the midst of her grief to hear 
the kind and eloquent eulogy pronounced upon the young 
soldier. 

When the body had been laid in the grave and the fresh 
mound heaped up and sweet flowers strewn in profusion 
thereon, the six soldiers, who had been invited to the 
burial for the purpose, drew up in line beside the grave 
and flred a volley in honor of their stranger comrade. The 
reverberation of the guns rolled solemnly through the for- 
est and died away in the distance; the sorrowing concourse 
turned away to repair to their respective homes, and the 
young soldier was left to rest in peace beside his kindred 
dead. Only a few short months of patriotism and valor — 
and death ended all. 

As the sun sank in the west I was pleased to see some 
lingering rays rest gently upon the new-made grave, as if 
to emphasize the fact that, while the young soldier^s life 
was brief, it was glorious. Then the shadows of night 
came down upon the world; the moon rose up and the stars 
came out, as if to show that those under the gloom of sor- 
row always find a redeeming radiance when they look up- 
ward. 

Mary Bee had come to Forestfield to accompany Alice 
to the funeral as a comforter, for the stricken girl had im- 
plicit confidence in her sympathizing friend. And when 
the crowd had dispersed, Alice signified her desire to re- 
main. at the grave a short while and place upon it a floral 


212 


FOEESTFIELD 


offering which she had prepared for the purpose with her 
own hands. The offering consisted of a shield of pure 
white flowers, hearing in the center the word Honor, 
formed of crimson blossoms. As I had accompanied the 
girls in the barouche, I remained with them until the office 
had been performed. Of all the floral offerings of the oc- 
casion this one, I thought, was the most beautiful and 
appropriate, and one which expressed, I believe, the sin- 
cerest feelings of the donor. 

Mary Bee, upon invitation, returned with us and spent 
the night with Alice, feeling that she might relieve, by 
her presence, the dread loneliness of the flrst night after 
the day of sorrow and funereal rites. 


FOEESTFIELD 


313 


CHAPTER IV. 

A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 

I REMEMBER distinctly when the Federals first came 
into the neighborhood of Forestfield, which was 
about the first part of April, 1863. Soon after dark 
one evening there was heard an unusual commotion at the 
ford of the creek on the public road about a mile and a 
half north of Middleville. The neighing of horses, the 
braying of mules, the lowing of cattle and the shouting of 
men furnished a medley of sounds that had never before 
been heard in our part of the country. But that which 
made the occasion still more impressive, we could stand 
at the upper windows at Forestfield and see the campfires 
blazing through the woods. 

The enemy had advanced upon us unawares, and we 
had no time to prepare for his reception. We had heard 
reports of his coming, but we did not believe that he was 
so near. Judging from the conduct of some of his soldiers 
the next day, I am forced to say that he came as a thief 
in the night. 

A gentleman who owned a large plantation near the 
ford where the Federals camped that night, on hearing 
the commotion and being told that it was the Yankees, re- 
tired to his bed and expired in a short time. He could 
not endure the thought of the loss of his property and 
slaves. 

As the advance guard of cavalry passed through Middle- 
ville, our neighborhood village, during the night, the in- 


214 


FOKESTFIELD 


habitants were filled with consternation, as they had never 
heard the tramp of an enemy at their doors before. Some 
of them told me that it was the most awful feeling they 
had ever experienced. Peering out through the partly 
opened doors and windows from the dark rooms into the 
star-lit night, they beheld the dim figures of strange men 
on horses marching silently along the street, with guns 
across their saddles, upon their way to the subjugation of 
the country. One man, of strong fancy, said that if he 
had been looking upon the march of disembodied spirits 
on their way to recruit their ranks from among the living, 
he would not have felt more awful. 

Our chief village merchant, Sidney Dartmuth, upon 
being informed that the Yankees were coming, sent his 
clerk with all haste to inform the people of Hunterstown, 
eight miles away, of the approach of the enemy. And, 
judging from the speed the young man made that night, 
one might suppose that he was rivaling the historic ride 
of Paul Eevere. 

Upon the message being delivered to the authorities of 
the town, they began at once to marshal about one hun- 
dred home-guards to go and meet the invaders and check 
their advance, although there were several thousand of the 
latter. So early the next morning the little band marched 
up the turnpike armed with fowling-pieces to meet the 
enemy with much courage and confidence, as raw soldiers 
will do before they have received their first baptism of 
fire. But when they saw the head of the Federal column 
approaching their hearts failed them, and they concluded 
to halt, hoist a white fiag and consult about the mat- 
ter before attacking a whole brigade of trained sol- 
diers. 

When the enemy arrived our militia captain, in citizen’s 
garb, approached the commandant of the Federals and sa- 


FORESTFIELD 


215 


luted in an awkward manner. But the Federal officer, not 
waiting to be addressed by him, remarked : 

^‘1 suppose you have come out to capture us this morn- 
ing r 

^‘Oh no, sir,” replied the citizen-soldier, "we are in 
search of a man who stole a horse and buggy and made 
way with them. Have any of you gentlemen seen any- 
thing of him up this way?’^ 

"Well, we are upon a similar errand,” rejoined the Fed- 
eral officer; "we are in search of some men who stole eleven 
states from the Union and made way with them. You will 
consider yourselves our prisoners. Face about and march 
hack into town.” 

Early that day the main body of infantry, being the 
command of General Mitchell, began to march by; and as 
they approached the village, with their guns glittering in 
the April sun, many people, both white and black, became 
alarmed and fled from their homes into the more retired 
districts for safety. White women, accompanied by their 
slave women, could have been seen fleeing across the flelds 
with disheveled hair seeking refuge beyond the march of 
the enemy. And when we remember that there were bar- 
rels of intoxicating liquors in Sidney Dartmuth’s store very 
liable to be appropriated by the soldiers, the unceremo- 
nious refugees should not be censured. Having read of 
the atrocities of war, they were not willing to risk them- 
selves in the presence of what they thought to be brutal 
soldiers. But those who remained at their homes soon 
found that there was no danger, and especially upon the 
public road where uncontrolled stragglers were not so 
likely to commit depredations. Besides, as a precaution 
against the soldiers becoming drunk, the officers burst the 
heads out of the whisky barrels and allowed it to waste. 
However, the former, determined not to be entirely de- 


216 


FORESTFIELD 


prived of the liquor, stooped down and drank what they 
could from the horse-tracks. 

As the Federal columns were passing by, an old black 
auntie, who had evidently been misinformed in regard to 
the nature of the enemy, stood at the fence and cried out : 
^^Dey tole me dat de Yankees had horns lak cows!” When 
one of the soldiers who passed near the old woman stopped 
and remarked: ^^We have got horns; don’t you see this?” 
And he drew out his bayonet and made at her. The old 
auntie ran into the house exclaiming: “Laud have mussy! 
Dey is got horns sho ’nough!” 

Upon the first day of the invasion we all remained 
closely at home at Fores tfield, believing that we would be 
safer there than in passing about the neighborhood. Cou- 
sin Jane, who had strong faith in God’s protection, said 
she would remain at home if the enemy should threaten to 
murder her upon their first approach. But Elizabeth’s 
children — and especially Charles, of nine years — could not 
understand how we could be safe in the presence of men 
who had been trying to kill our soldiers in the army; and 
they were not reconciled until an officer came into the 
house, laid his hand upon their heads and spoke kindly to 
them, assuring them that they should not be harmed. 

Most of the day the soldiers were passing and appro- 
priating many things to their own use, as soldiers will do 
in an enemy’s country, but occasionally paying for wiiat 
they took. Horses, mules, cattle, fowls, forage and house- 
hold furniture which could be carried off were appro- 
priated. But it seemed that they had a preference for bed- 
clothing, wearing apparel, and silver spoons and knives 
and forks. They frequently took articles they had no use 
for, as we saw one fellow pass wearing a tall silk hat. We 
took the precaution to conceal our valuables at Forestfield, 
and they were accordingly saved. Jabez Johnson said 


FOEESTFIELD 


217 


that, ^^Ez old General Mitchell had made a geogify of this 
country once he know’d whar everything wuz, and thar 
wa’n’t no use of tryin’ to hide ’em/’ 

After the main body of the troops had passed with many 
stragglers following on and there came a lull in the great 
commotion of the day, we concluded that we would be an- 
noyed no more, and had settled down to talk over our 
various experiences. But alas! we were soon to he dole- 
fully disappointed. 

About an hour by sun in the evening, as Jabez Johnson 
was sitting alone upon the front veranda, he saw five 
^^blue-coats” (as he called them) approaching the house 
through the lawn gate, and whom he supposed must be 
upon mischief bent, as it had been some time since the last 
stragglers passed. They soon reached the yard gate, and, 
without ceremony, entered and walked up to the veranda 
and asked Jabez if he were the proprietor of the place, to 
which he replied in his characteristic way: 

^^Naw, sir, I ain’t! Jane Pemrose owns this plantation!” 

^Ts the lady at home?” asked the spokesman, very po- 
litely. 

^‘Yes!” was the curt reply. 

‘‘1 wish you’d tell her that some gentlemen wish to see 
her.” And as the spokesman said this he winked signifi- 
cantly at the others as if he doubted the fitness of the title. 
They all then took seats upon the ample stone steps, each 
holding his gun in his hand. 

Jabez arose and conveyed the message to Cousin Jane, 
but she was not willing to respond to the call unless I 
would go with her. While she trusted much in Provi- 
dence, she trusted also in man. As we appeared upon the 
veranda and the soldiers saw me accompanying the mis- 
tress of the place they looked rather surprised. 

“Well, madam,” said the spokesman, as he rose to his 


218 


FORESTFIELB 


feet, have been told that there is valuable treasure 
buried on your place, and we have come to search for it. 
Can we have the permission to do so, madam 

^^There is no treasure buried on this place that I know 
of,” calmly replied Cousin Jane, as she looked at me with 
surprise. And I suspected she was thinking of the silver 
plate we had hidden early that morning. She was so con- 
scientious I was really afraid that she would repent of her 
denial and confess that there was treasure hidden on the 
premises, after all. 

^‘We have been told so by reliable parties, and we wish 
to make a search,” rejoined the blue-coat, with added em- 
phasis. 

^‘You are welcome to dig for it,” said Cousin Jane, ‘^Dut 
I think you will be disappointed.” 

We’ll risk that,” said another of the men, in an eager 
tone, as he rose to his feet. 

^^Have you picks and shovels here, sir?” asked the 
spokesman, addressing me. 

I felt now that the danger had passed and that the sil- 
verware was safe. I told him that we had picks and shov- 
els, and offered to get them for him, when Jabez Johnson, 
in his candid and uncouth way, protested: wouldn’t 

git any picks and shovels fur ’em, Morris; let ’em scratch it 
up with thar hands.” 

“Yes, get the tools for them, Cousin Morris; they are 
perfectly welcome to dig,” interposed Cousin Jane, who 
feared that the remark of Jabez might offend them. 

As they all arose and shouldered their guns and fol- 
lowed their leader as he followed me, the leader remarked : 
“You need not be alarmed; we do not intend to disturb 
anything but the treasure.” 

When I had secured the picks and shovels for them I 
ventured to ask where they would dig for the treasure. 


FORESTFIELD 219 

the back of the garden, under a heap of stones/^ 
replied the leader. 

I knew at once that they intended to dig into the old 
Indian grave, and set about to devise a plan, if possible, 
to prevent them, and I replied : "‘Why, that’s a grave, my 
friend! You certainly would not dig into a grave for 
treasure ?” 

^‘Oh, that’s no grave,” the leader replied, in an apologiz- 
ing tone, '^unless it is the grave of a buried treasure.” 
The last words were bitter irony. “We have been reliably 
informed and we intend to carry out our purpose,” he 
added, with much positiveness. 

“What if it is a grave?” asked one of the soldiers, in a 
sneering way. “A treasure is just as valuable from a grave 
as from anywhere else.” 

As the soldiers and myself entered the garden and the 
news of the unholy expedition spread over the plan- 
tation, Cousin Jane, Elizabeth, Alice and the children 
all came out to witness the strange proceeding. Many 
of the negroes, also, came out to look on. Jabez 
J ohnson, however, refused to witness it, and said 
that he “wuzn’t gwine to look at any sich scand’lous 
doin’s.” 

When we reached the spot the vandals (as they had 
now proved themselves to be) stacked their guns, placed 
one of their number on guard, seized the tools and went 
to work; and as they dug deeper and deeper and ap- 
proached nearer and nearer the bones of the Indian squaw. 
Uncle Ned, the gardener, looked on with surprise and re- 
marked: “Dar, now! Dey sho’ is gwine ter dig up de po’ 
ole Injun.” 

To which the guard replied: “You keep quiet, old 
man, or we’ll bury you alive in that hole!” Which re- 
mark so excited the more timid of the company that Cou- 


220 


FOEESTFIELD 


sin Jane, followed by the rest of the family, returned to 
the house. Some of the negroes left also. 

Soon after Cousin Jane reached the house a Federal 
officer and five of his staff rode up to the yard gate and 
asked if they could get supper, to which Cousin Jane re- 
plied in the affirmative, as she eagerly ran to meet the 
officer, who, with his staff, had dismounted and entered 
the yard. This was the first time that day she was glad 
to see a Yankee, and she lost no time in informing the 
officer of the conduct of the five vandals in the garden. 

‘^Well, madam,^^ said the officer (who proved to be a 
colonel), ^Ve will go in and arrest them if you will show 
us where they are. But we must be very cautious about 
it, or they might escape.’^ 

Cousin Jane then led the colonel and his men through 
the shrubbery to the garden gate and pointed out the spot, 
and, turning them over to Jabez, who then made his ap- 
pearance, she withdrew, as she did not care to undergo the 
excitement of the scene. The party, led by Jabez, then 
entered the garden and made their way cautiously toward 
the group at the back of the garden, keeping themselves 
hidden by the foliage, that they might not be prematurely 
observed. And when within a short distance of the spec- 
tators, who faced the other way and shut off the view of 
the guard in that direction, the colonel rushed through 
the crowd, followed by his men, with sword in hand, and 
exclaimed: ‘‘What are you doing here, you devils! Come 
out of that grave, you vandals!” 

The spectators were taken so much by surprise that they 
scattered in every direction, and some of the negroes did 
not cease running until' they reached their cabins. But 
the treasure hunters were more surprised when they found 
that they had been discovered by their own colonel en- 
gaged in so nefarious a business; and when the officer 


FORESTFIELD 


221 


commanded his men to take charge of them they could 
hardly look up for shame. Old Uncle Ned, who had not 
retreated very far, returned immediately, with hat in 
hand, and said : “I sho’ is glad, marse officer, dat you all 
come. Dem sojers would sho’ had de hones of dat ole In- 
jun scattered all over dis place. We’s all mighty glad you 
come, marse officer.” 

Following the example of Uncle Ned, I went up to the 
colonel and introduced myself and thanked him for his 
timely interference, which he seemed to appreciate; when 
he gave assurance that the vandals should be adequately 
punished for their reprehensible conduct. 

Just as the colonel surprised the diggers one of them 
was lifting a small tin box from the grave, but before he 
could conceal it he found himself under arrest, when he 
covertly pitched the box under a hush that grew near by. 
And as one of the negroes saw him dispose of the box he 
came to me and informed me of what he saw, and as soon 
as the excitement had abated I went and picked up the 
box and placed it in my pocket. 

Upon arriving at the house I invited the colonel into 
the parlor and called his attention to the box as probably 
containing some interesting Indian relics, and we pro- 
ceeded to open it. The colonel seemed to he very much 
interested in the contents of the box, and remarked that 
the treasure-seekers knew more about what they were 
doing than we had suspected. After melting the beeswax 
which held the top on, we opened the box and found with- 
in it the follomng articles in good preservation, viz. : A 
linen sampler adorned with beautiful needle-work, a ladies’ 
gold ring, a. gold breast-pin, a pair of gold ear-rings, sev- 
eral strands of coral beads and some specimens of Indian 
bead-work in an unfinished condition. Upon examining 
the articles more closely the ring was found to contain on 


222 


FOEESTFIELD 


the inside the following inscription: G. to J. T. — 

1808/’ The sampler, within which the jewelry was neatly 
wrapped, bore the word ^‘Thursday” near the center, and 
beautifully wrought. The breast-pin bore no mark at all. 
The bead-work was of ordinary Indian construction. 

As we completed the examination we were called to sup- 
per, and as we arose to go the colonel remarked: ‘^This 
is certainly an interesting episode that I have encountered 
to-day, and I shall never forget it; although I am very 
sorry that the grave had to be desecrated in order to de- 
velop it. I wish that I could remain long enough in the 
neighborhood to see the mystery solved. Evidently,” he 
continued, ^The body, or rather the dust, occupying that 
grave is that of a white person, or if an Indian, is closely 
associated with the history of some white family. If I 
were in your place, Mr. McClure,” he advised, ‘T should 
investigate the matter.” 

After aU had eaten supper, for which the colonel offered 
to pay a liberal price and which we refused positively to 
accept, he ordered his staff to mount and each to take a 
prisoner behind him. But before they started the colonel 
turned and remarked very politely: thank you, Mrs. 

Pemrose, and you also, Mr. McClure, for your kindness 
toward us, and I shall always remember it with pleasure; 
and I assure you that these men who acted so badly on 
your premises shall be adequately punished.” 

But Cousin Jane, who had a very tender and forgiving 
heart, protested against the severe punishment of the sol- 
diers, and begged the colonel to be lenient with them. He 
said he would consider her request; and, bidding us good- 
night, he and his company rode away. 

When we gathered about the evening lamp in the par- 
lor, after the Federals were gone, we had much of interest 
to talk about; but the most absorbing topic was the treas- 


FOKESTFIELD 


223 


lire box found in the Indian grave. Until this time none 
of the family had seen the mysterious hox, and I soon 
brought it forth for exhibition. But as I believed so 
strongly that the articles in the box bore some close con- 
nection with the history of our household, I hesitated 
bringing them to the notice of the family, for fear of the 
effect it might have upon the sensitive feelings of Cousin 
Jane. Yet at the same time I felt that I had no right to 
withhold the matter from them. However, when I brought 
the box out and related how it was taken from the Indian 
grave and how it came into my possession, my story was 
taken as a harmless jest. But when the contents were 
emptied upon the table and examined the amusement of 
all was at once transformed into a most serious mood, and 
when Cousin Jane picked up the gold ring and looked at 
it closely she remarked with great surprise: “This ring 
has the initials of my father and mother on the inside 
and the year in which they were married,” and, hand- 
ing the ring to me, she repeated the inscription : 
“B. G. to J. T. — 1808.” “My father’s name,” she 
continued, “was Bichard Granville, and my mother’s 
maiden name was Jane Ttent, and I remember to 
have heard Grandfather Granville say that they were 
married in 1808. This all seems very strange to me. 
Cousin Morris.” 

Immediately a change came over her countenance, as I 
had anticipated; for the reader will recall that her father 
and mother were carried into captivity by the savages 
when she was only two years old and had never been heard 
of since. 

When we came across the sampler adorned with nee- 
dle^work and bearing the name of one jof the days of 
the week — “Thursday” — Cousin Jane’s astonishment was' 
extreme; and, without examining it any further, she arose 


224 


FOKESTFIELD 


and left the room, but soon returned bringing six other 
samplers that matched the one taken from the box, each 
bearing the name of one of the days of the week, and all 
making a complete series of seven days. That the sampler 
taken from the box belonged to those possessed by Cousin 
Jane was quite evident to all. They seemed to have been 
designed by the same person to represent, for some pur- 
pose, all the days of the week. Yet there was something 
on the sampler taken from the box which distinguished it 
from the others and which I was glad to see overlooked by 
Cousin Jane, at least at that time; for I saw plainly that 
the conviction of an overwhelming truth was fast gather- 
ing upon her mind, and I dreaded the consequences to her 
most sensitive spirit. 

When I retired that night I went to sleep with a theory 
of the mystery in my head, which I resolved to verify, if 
possible. My theory was that, some time after Richard 
Granville and his wife were taken captive by the Indians, 
the former died, and that after his widow had become ac- 
customed to savage life and had lost all attachment for 
civilization, she became the squaw of some chief, and that, 
eventually, she died also; and that when the chief whom 
she had married determined to remove westward with his 
tribe, he came and requested permission to reinter his dead 
squaw near the home of her father, John Granville; and 
that he placed her jewelry and other trinkets in the grave 
with her bones. And in regard to the lost sampler, I con- 
cluded that, when the unfortunate couple returned to the 
house the night of their capture, Jane Granville picked 
up one of the seven samplers in which to wrap her valua- 
bles and left the six behind, which were found undis- 
turbed by the family upon their return from the block- 
house to which they had fled, and that the samplers were 
given to little Jane, the orphan daughter of the unfortu- 


FORESTFIELD 225 

nate couple, who had kept them until the lost one was 
found in the mysterious tin box. 

So, putting all these facts and hypotheses together, I 
drew the conclusion that the person reinterred by the old 
Indian chief in the garden at Forestfield was the lost 
mother of Cousin Jane Pemrose. Yet, as the evidence was 
not entirely conclusive, I was willing to await further de- 
velopments. 


226 


FORESTFIELD 


CHAPTER V. 

THE captain’s REVENGE. 

J UST before the Federal army reached our section of 
country there was some apprehension on the part 
of the slave-holders lest the slaves should, upon its 
approach, seize the first opportunity to desert their masters 
and flee to their deliverers. This feeling caused some of 
the slave-holders to refugee with their slaves across the 
Tennessee river, while some resorted to other means to 
keep the slaves on the plantations. Among the latter class 
was Joel Patterson. 

A short distance from Joel Patterson’s negro quarters 
was a large cave under the side of the mountain, sufficient 
in dimensions to accommodate a hundred persons, and 
the approach to which was so intricate that few people 
could find their way into it. In order to reach the cave 
one would have to creep through dense undergrowth, climb 
over large boulders and make his way along narrow de- 
files; but when once inside he would be as safe from dis- 
covery as if he had fled the country. 

So Joel Patterson determined to prepare that cave be- 
forehand as a refuge for his slaves whenever he should 
hear of the approach of the Federals. Nearly every night 
for several weeks he had his negroes busy storing away in 
the cave provisions for themselves and forage for the stock; 
for there was a smaller cave near the larger sufficient to 
hold quite a number of animals, and without anyone de- 


FORESTPIELD m 

tecting his movements, as he thought, he soon had his 
refuge well prepared for the coming of the enemy. 

The foreman — or boss — of the Patterson plantation was 
an old negro by the name of Sam, and as he had so much 
of the diabolical spirit of his master, the latter could trust 
him with the most important enterprises; for Sam knew 
that if he should betray his master in the least he would 
not only receive severe punishment, but would he reduced 
to the rank of a common field-hand. So Joel Patterson 
did not hesitate to confide to Sam all his arrangements in 
regard to the cave of refuge, but considered him as his 
most efficient agent in executing them. 

Calling Sam up to the “big house^^ one day, Joel (as I 
shall call Mr. Patterson for short) took him upstairs and 
proceeded to give him full and secret instructions in regard 
to the execution of his plans when he should hear of the 
approach of the Yankees. 

“Now, Sam — ^urreP’ — said Joel, “when I hear of them 
Yankees acomin’ — urrer — Pll let you know. Then you — 
urrer — must go an’ tell the nigger men — ^urrer — an’ 
they’ll tell the women an’ chillun. But — ^by dang — ^urrer 
— ^you mustn’t let nobody know — ^urrer — ^whut you’re doin’. 
An’ you must tell, them niggers — ^urrer — ef they tell any- 
body — urrer — I’ll skin ’em alive.” 

“I sho will do jest lak you tell me, Marse Joel,” replied 
Sam, proud of his responsibility. 

“You sho will, Sam — urrer — or by dang — ^urrer — ^I’ll 
skin you alive.” This exploded Sam’s dignity at once. 

“An’ Sam — urrer — ^when you have tole all the niggers 
— urrer — ^whut to do, I want you to take the lead — urrer 
— and make fur the cave. An’ don’t you — ^urrer — speak a 
word — urrer — twell you git in the cave. Ef you do, Sam 
— urrer — I’ll skin you alive.” 

“I sho will, Marse Joel.” 


228 


FORESTFIELD 


^^You sho’ will, Sam — urrer — ^by dang; ef you don’t — 
urrer — I’ll skin you alive.” 

The interview then closed and Sam returned to his cabin 
full of authority and responsibility, and also in much 
dread of both the Yankees and ^‘Marse Joel.” 

While Jabez Johnson was a sober philosopher, he was 
not wanting in the sense of the humorous, and sometimes 
he would play practical jokes that were not soon forgotten; 
and when he had discovered by some means the plans of 
Joel Patterson in regard to his cave of refuge, he resolved 
to have a little fun. 

Upon a very dark night, when vague reports of the com- 
ing of the Yankees were afloat, but without confirmation, 
Jabez decided to forestall Joel in his plans and to give Sam 
the signal for the exodus to the cave himself. So, about 
eleven o’clock, when all were probably asleep, he repaired 
with two of the neighbor boys to the Patterson plantation, 
and, creeping up to the chimney comer of Sam’s cabin, 
he made ready to give the signal; and as Jabez was an ex- 
pert mimic, there was little danger of his being detected. 
Placing his mouth close up to a small crack between the 
logs, he called in a low tone, ‘^Sam!” But there was no 
answer. But after waiting a short time and raising his 
voice a little, he repeated: ^‘Sam! Sam!” As Sam al- 
ways retired expecting to be called before morning, he 
awoke at the second call and answered: ‘^Sah, Marse 
Joel!” 

‘Them Yankees — urrer — ^by dang — ^is acomin’, Sam. 
An’ I want you — urrer — to git up quick — ^urrer — an’ tell 
the nigger men — urrer — ^to tell the women an’ chillun — 
urrer — ^to foller you to the cave.” 

“I sho will, Marse Joel,” answered Sam, as he jumped 
out of bed. 

“You sho will, Sam — urrer — ^by dang — or I’ll skin you 


PORESTFIELD 


229 

alive/^ was the encouraging statement of Marse Joel (?). 

Sam — urrer — when you git to the cave — urrer — you 
take some nigger men — urrer — an’ come back fur the horses 
an’ mules. An’ don’t you niggers — ^urrer — show yourselves 
outside that cave— urrer — ^tell I say so.” 

^^We sho won’t, Marse Joel.” 

^^You sho won’t, Sam — by dang — ^urrer — or I’ll skin you 
alive.” 

Jabez Johnson then withdrew and left the little Joke he 
had set in motion to work itself. And it worked. 

The next morning, when Joel came down to the quarters, 
about daylight, to see that the negroes went early to their 
work (for his overseer, Ben Simpson, had enlisted in the 
Confederate army), he approached the cabin door of his 
foreman, Sam, and called him. But there was no answer. 
Eaising his voice somewhat and knocking on the door with 
his cane at the same time, he called again. But there was 
still no answer; and, becoming very much angered at not 
getting a response from his foreman, he exclaimed : 

^^You, Sam — urrer — by dang — why don’t you answer 
your Marse Joel?” But there was no reply. He then asked 
in much earnestness : ^Ts you dead, Sam ? — ^urrer — ef you 
ain’t — by dang — I’ll skin you alive,” and, seizing a fence- 
rail lying near by, he gave the door a tremendous punch and 
it fell with a crash. He then rushed into the cabin with 
his cane in his hand ready to give Sam a beating, but 
found no one present. He then rushed out as fast as he 
rushed in and went to other cabins, but found not a single 
slave in all the quarters ; and, becoming exhausted by exer- 
tion and passion, he sat upon the doorstep of one of the 
cabins and thus soliloquized: 

^^Whar is all my niggers gone — ^urrer — ^by dang? You 
reckon they done run off — urrer — to the Yankees — ^urrer — 
befo’ they git here#? By dang — urrer — I’ll skin ’em alive, 


230 


FOEESTFIELD 


ef I ever ketch ’em! An’ by dang — ^urrer — ^they took all 
my horses an’ mules with ’em, I bet — ^urrer.” He then arose 
and went back to the house. 

For several days Joel went from place to place, inquiring 
if anybody had seen his slaves on their way to the Yankees ; 
but no one had seen them. He was so confident that Sam 
would not have taken the negroes to the cave until he gave 
him notice that he never thought of that solution of the 
mystery, and he would not mention the cave to anyone for 
fear of divulging his secret. But he finally concluded that 
he would go over to the cave and see if his slaves were really 
there. Upon going he found all fifty comfortably housed 
and enjoying their odd holiday very much. That night 
they were all brought back home and set to work the next 
day. But from the looks of Sam, whom I saw soon after, 
I don’t think he was skinned alive. But he always con- 
tended that ^^Marse Joel’s sperit tole him to flee to de 
cave.” 

When the Yankees did really come they found all of Joel 
Patterson’s negroes on his plantation, for the premature 
flight to the cave of refuge destroyed all his well-laid plans 
in that respect; and, instead of the Yankees carrying off 
his negroes, Joel himself was carried off in a manner he 
never forgot. 

The night the enemy arrived in the neighborhood and 
entered camp on the creek not far from the Patterson plan- 
tation, a captain called two of his men aside and ordered 
them to get their guns and a rope and follow him. The men 
obeyed, and the three were soon making their way in the 
direction of Joel Patterson’s dwelling. 

Upon arriving at the front gate the captain hallooed, and 
in response to his call Joel himself came out and asked 
what was wanted. 

^^Consider yourself under arrest, sir,” replied the captain. 


FORESTFIELD 231 

^^and call someone to bring me a quantity of lampblack and 
a brush.” 

Although the lampblack and brush were very suggestive 
to the mind of J oel, he called a negro and bade him bring 
the articles from the blacksmith shop and give them to the 
officer. The captain then ordered one of his men to make 
a slip-loop in the rope and place it over Joel’s head, and 
the other man to take the lampblack and brush and all 
three to follow him. The understanding between the cap- 
tain and his men was that, after they had started from 
Joel Patterson’s house, no one should speak a word until 
permitted by the captain. 

Slowly and silently the odd procession wended its way 
in the moonlight across the fields, through the woods and 
into the gloomy depths of the swamp. But that which 
made the feelings of the prisoner still more gloomy, the 
frogs were croaking mournfully within the ponds and the 
crickets were chirping their melancholy notes among the 
dead grass. 

^‘Whar yawl takin’ me to — urrer — anyway?” demanded 
Joel, in a tremulous voice. ‘T ain’t done nothin’ .erg’inst 
the Yankees.” But there was no reply. Slowly and si- 
lently they continued their march like mourners going to 
a burial by night. The captain walked in front, as if he 
knew exactly where he was going, one of his men followed 
him leading Joel by the rope, while the other man brought 
up the rear with the lampblack and the brush. 

Joel’s thoughts, while much concerned with the pres- 
ent, were wandering now and then six years back, to the 
time when a certain doctor was led in a similar manner 
into the same swamp, and there was a vivid recollection 
that he had something to do with it. At last the proces- 
sion arrived at a certain gloomy and secluded spot in the 
dark bottom, where it halted. And as the whole transac- 


232 


FORESTFIELB 


tion had been prearranged to be executed without a word, 
the blue-coats proceeded with their cruel work in perfect 
silence. 

Poor J oel was stripped of his clothing and his body com- 
pletely covered with lampblack from head to foot, when 
the end of the rope was thrown over the limb of a tree and 
the blackened man was drawn up by the neck until his 
feet barely touched the ground. This was repeated sev- 
eral times, despite the piteous protests of the victim, but 
not often enough to endanger his life. 

‘^Gentlemen — urrer — ef yawl will let me go — ^urrer — I’ll 
give you — urrer — a thousand dollars in gold.” But there 
was no reply, and although he repeated the proposition at 
intervals several times, there was no response. 

Finally Joel’s clothing was replaced, the rope taken 
from his neck and the odd procession retraced its steps 
toward the Patterson dwelling without a word being spo- 
ken. But the croaking of the frogs and the chirping of 
the crickets now sounded as the sweetest music to Joel’s 
ears. Just before they reached Joel’s house the captain 
broke the silence by commanding the squad to halt, and, 
standing face to face with his prisoner, he remarked : 

‘‘Joel Patterson, I suppose you remember that about 
six years ago a certain doctor was treated in this neighbor- 
hood just as you were treated to-night, and that soon after 
he received a note, without a name, warning him to leave 
the country by a certain time, and that he sold out his 
possessions at a sacrifice and obeyed the warning. Well, 
that doctor, as I happened to know, joined the Federal 
army as soon as the war began and was soon commissioned 
a captain. And, although he was attached to the eastern 
division of the army, he asked to be transferred to the 
western division, that he might have the opportunity of 
invading this section of the South and of visiting the man 


FORESTFIELD 


233 


who was instrumental in blackening him with lampblack 
and hanging him to a tree. The doctor has visited that 
man to-night and paid his respects to him just as that man 
paid his respects to the doctor six years ago. Now, Joel 
Patterson, all I have to say to you is that if you ever reveal 
this transaction to anyone, or ever mistreat your slaves, 
as you have been doing, I shall return and treat you with 
less mercy than I have this time. Good-night!” 

At the close of this address the captain and his men 
disappeared in the darkness. Joel then made his way 
secretly into the house, went to his room upstairs, washed 
the lampblack from his body and retired a happy man. 
He had no family, but a negro man and his wife occupied 
a side room and the woman cooked and kept the house 
for him. 

According to the instructions of the captain, Joel Pat- 
terson never divulged his terrible experience until the 
close of the war; but he couldn’t help saying to himself 
sometimes, ^‘By dang — urrer — that wuz bad.” But the 
captain had reaped his revenge. 

The day following the blacking and hanging of Joel 
Patterson a Federal officer with a squad of men visited the 
home of Captain Ruffin with orders to arrest him, a habit 
which was quite common with the Federal authorities 
during the early days of their occupancy of the country. 

Captain Ruffin had done nothing worthy of arrest, but 
as his manner and spirit indicated that he might do some- 
thing detrimental to the invaders, they determined to in- 
timidate him in advance, as well as to humble his aristo- 
cratic pride. 

Accordingly, just about sunset, the squad approached 
the Ruffin mansion and called for the captain. Coming to 
the door the latter invited the officer into the house, but 
as it was growing late he declined the invitation and re- 


234 FOEESTFIELD 

quested the captain to come out to the gate, and then re- 
marked : 

have orders, Captain Euffin, to arrest you and take 
you before the provost marshal at Hunterstown at once/’ 

‘^Well, I suppose there is nothing else for me to do but 
to submit,” replied the captain; ‘‘you have me in your 
power.” And he turned and started into the house to 
make some preparations for his sudden departure, when 
the Federal quickly interrupted: “But hold on there, I 
will send a soldier with you.” 

“That’s all right,” remarked the captain, as he halted 
upon the walk; “you can do as you like about that; 
but an innocent man would hardly attempt to escape.” 
And he looked at the officer with that calm and candid 
gaze so characteristic of the brave. Accompanied by the 
soldier, with gun in hand, he went into the house, but soon 
returned and called Tom, his body servant, to bring his 
saddle-horse. 

Mrs. Euffin, who was a woman of some spirit, came out 
upon the veranda with her husband and began to protest 
against his arrest, but upon the latter’s advice she soon 
desisted and submitted to the inevitable. She did not an- 
ticipate any very serious consequences, but it annoyed her 
very much to see her husband so abruptly carried off by 
the enemy without an apparent cause. 

While Tom was bringing out the horse and the officer 
stood leaning on the gate Mrs. Euffin, who stood near her 
husband upon the veranda, remarked to the latter in an 
undertone : “That officer reminds nie very much of some- 
one I have known, but I cannot recall the person’s name.” 

“Yes, when I first came to the door I thought I detected 
a resemblance to some one of my forgotten acquaintances,” 
responded Captain Euffin; “but that’s not unusual, as most 
people have their double.” 


FORESTFIELD 


235 


When Tom appeared with his master’s horse he led, also, 
an old mule for his own use; for he had decided to share 
the fortunes of his old master, let them he what they 
might. As he expressed it himself : “Ef dey kwars Marse 
David off to de prison I wants to go, too.” 

Signifying to his captor that he was ready to go, the 
prisoner hade farewell to his family in a cheerful manner, 
mounted his horse and rode off by the side of the officer; 
but, being too proud to sulk, even before an enemy, he en- 
tered at once into conversation with him. 

^^Excuse me, sir,” said Captain Ruffin; ^ffiut you remind 
me very much of someone whom I used to know, but can- 
not now recall.” 

^^Oh, well, I suppose everyone has his double somewhere 
in the world,” replied the officer, with some embarrass- 
ment. He then suddenly changed the subject by remark- 
ing : ^^You are riding quite a fine horse.” 

^^Yes, Charley’s a good horse, and I would hardly know 
what to do without him,” was the reply. 

^Tt’s a wonder some straggler hasn’t captured him be- 
fore this,” suggested the Federal. 

^Tle was led from the stable once by a straggler, but my 
wife saved him.” 

For some time the squad rode on in silence, while the 
prisoner availed himself of the opportunity to recall, if 
possible, the identity and name of the person whom his 
captor so much resembled, and finally when he heard him 
speak to one of his men, the tone of the Federal’s voice 
suddenly brought before him the image of an old ac- 
quaintance whom he had not seen nor heard from in six 
years — and Dr. Northcut stood before him metamorphosed 
into a Federal officer — and he determined at once to ask 
his name. 

^^You remind me, captain, so much of an old acquaint- 


236 


FOEESTFIELB 


ance and neighbor who left here six years ago for Massa- 
chusetts, you will pardon me for asking your name.” 

The officer cleared his throat and with some hesitation 
replied, ^^My name is Southcut.” And he glanced signifi- 
cantly toward his men, who could not suppress a smile. 

^‘Well,” rejoined the other, ^^your name and that of my 
old neighbor resemble as much as your features. It’s quite 
remarkable. My neighbor’s name was Northcut.” 

^^Northcut? There is more difference between the names 
than one would think — they are just opposite.” And the 
Federal glanced at his men again and smiled. 

Although the officer wore a full beard, which was tinged 
with gray. Captain Euffin was satisfied that he was his 
old neighbor, Dr. Northcut, and he was fully aware of the 
ruse played by his captor. And the more Captain Euffin 
studied the voice, manner and features of his captor the 
more confirmed he became in his belief. 

When the squad reached Hunterstown, some time after 
dark, they repaired immediately to the provost marshal’s 
office, where Captain Southcut presented his prisoner to 
that functionary and inquired what he should do with him, 
to which the marshal replied: ‘^Take the prisoner down 
to the jail. Captain Northcut, and place him in safe-keep- 
ing until to-morrow, when I shall attend to his case.” 

When the marshal pronounced the name Northcut, 
Captain Southcut (?) showed some embarrassment, and 
immediately left the office with his prisoner for the jail. 
But as the file of soldiers were permitted to go at once to 
the camps. Captain Northcut was left alone with his pris- 
oner, save for the presence of Tom, who was determined to 
see what would become of his master, and followed a few 
paces in the rear. 

As the three proceeded along the street the Federal, who 
could no longer assume his disguise, acknowledged that he 


FORESTFIELD 


237 


was no other than the Dr. Northcnt whom his prisoner 
knew in former days, and also confessed that he had en- 
listed in the Federal army chiefly for the purpose of retal- 
iating upon the South for what he had suffered while a 
resident of that section. 

intend to wreak vengeance upon North Alabama,” 
said the ex-doctor, as he drew his sword and flourished it 
in the air, ‘ffor the indignities which her people once 
heaped upon me! I intend to carry sword and flame up 
and down this Tennessee valley until it becomes a desert- 
waste!” 

To this threat Captain Ruffin made no reply, as he felt 
it useless to controvert the matter with the enraged officer, 
and in silence he proceeded toward the place of his con- 
finement for the night. 

Upon entering the jail they soon came to the door of a 
cell, where they met the keeper, when the door was 
thrown open and the prisoner was bade to enter. But 
just as he was about to enter the cell he discovered, by the 
light of a dim lamp, two negroes lying upon the floor, 
when he stepped back and refused to proceed. 

^^Go in, sir,” said the keeper; ‘There’s nothin’ in there 
to hurt you.” 

‘T think there is,” replied the prisoner, with spirit, “and 
I shall never enter as long as those negroes are in there! I 
am not accustomed to occupying rooms with negro crim- 
inals!” 

“Never mind that, captain,” said the officer, in a sarcas- 
tic tone; “we have to submit to a great many things in 
time of war that we are not used to.” 

“That may be true, but I shall never occupy a cell in a 
jail with negroes, war or no war!” replied the prisoner, 
with increased disgust and determination. 

“Naw, ef I wuz Marse David I wouldn’t go in dar. 


238 FORESTFIELD 

nuther!’^ added Tom, who had caught the spirit of his 
master. 

^^You he quiet, sir, or we’ll put you in there!” threat- 
ened the keeper. 

At this juncture the negro prisoners, who had been 
aroused from sleep by the confusion, sat upon their pallets 
and yawned, and through the dim light gazed drowsily 
toward the door. 

“You must go in, Captain Ruffin,” said Captain North- 
cut, as he involuntarily placed his hand upon the former’s 
shoulder, “for I have orders to confine you in this very 
cell.” 

“You might put me in that cell bodily by main strength, 
sir; but there are not bayonets enough in the Federal 
army to force me in!” retorted the prisoner, as his aged 
and slender form trembled from head to foot; “and I 
would have you understand that once for all, sir! I am 
willing to go into a cell to myself, hut I shall never sub- 
mit to he imprisoned with negro criminals, nor any other 
sort!” 

This was said with so much spirit and determination 
that Captain Northcut began to yield, for he had not for- 
gotten the high and chivalrous character displayed by his 
prisoner when he knew him six years before in the times 
of peace. 

“There is a vacant cell upstairs. Captain Northcut, that 
we can put him in,” suggested the keeper, as he, too, 
yielded to the spirit of the prisoner. 

“Well, I don’t suppose it makes much difference, just 
so he doesn’t escape before morning,” agreed the officer, in 
a sarcastic tone. And the party proceeded upstairs, where 
the prisoner was placed in a comparatively clean cell to 
himself and left to his own refiections upon the injustice, 
cruelties and revenges of wur. 


FORESTFIELD 


239 


Tom asked to be put in the cell with his master, upon 
the latter’s permission, hut the keeper refused, and he was 
forced to content himself with lying near the door in the 
corridor until morning. ^‘1 ain’t gwine to leave Marse 
David,” he said, ^^ef I have to stan’ up all night long right 
here.” To this no one objected. 

Captain Northcut had scored his second revenge in the 
humiliation of a former high-toned neighbor and friend, 
and he retired to the camp with congratulations to him- 
self. 

The next morning Captain Euffin was examined by the 
provost marshal, found to be innocent of all fictitious 
charges against him and allowed to return home, accom- 
panied by Tom, his faithful slave. But had not an aris- 
tocratic slave-holder been forced to spend a night in jail? 


240 


FORESTFIELD 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE DEATH OF UlfCLE NED. 

HOLE NED was the oldest negro on Forestfield 



plantation. He was born, as he used to say, “in 


ole Ferginny, endurin’ of the Resolutionary war.” 


His age, though uncertain, must have been at least four- 
score years. However, he never claimed to have blackened 
General Washington’s hoots. 

Uncle Ned belonged originally to John Granville, who 
established Forestfield and who was Cousin Jane’s grand- 
father; and when his master came out to the Mississippi 
territory the latter part of the eighteenth century he came 
with him. He used to boast of how “me an’ Marse John 
cleared all dis here Ian’ when dar wa’n’t a stick amiss”; and 
how he “hope to make de bricks fur de big house outen de 
red clay. Marse John never dun nothin’,” he said, “with- 
out ’suitin’ me.” 

The old man had long been the gardener, and did little 
else than work the vegetables and the flowers in the old- 
fashioned garden; and, being a slave of “quality,” as he 
claimed, he had time to turn many a dime for himself. I 
remember well when the railroad was being built near 
Forestfield and the deep cut was excavated, and the high 
red “dump” was thrown up of the earth taken out. Near 
there Uncle Ned set him up a store in a hoUow stump to 
sell nicknacks to the railroad hands. A large hollow pop- 
lar tree had been cut down and the red clay from the cut 
thrown around it, closing it in on all sides, but leaving the 


FOKESTFIELD 


241 


top open. Here onr merchant-slave attached a flap-door 
with hinges and lock. Inside the stump were shelves 
filled with candy and cakes cooked by Aunt Caroline and 
other nicknacks. Edward and Alice used to say that this 
w^as the first store they ever visited. I remember to have 
gone with them to Uncle Ned^s stump-store and bought 
candy for them. 

nu’sed all de chillun/’ the old man used to boast, 
'^an’ even Miss Jane herself. I know’d Marse Dan’el Pern- 
rose when he wuz nuthin^ but a chunk of a boy. Ned’s a 
ole man, to be sho’. He’s been here a long time.” 

As Cousin Jane always had a preacher to come and 
preach to her negroes, some of them were very religious, 
prominent among whom was Uncle Ned. I believe he was 
a sincere and consistent Christian, and had as little super- 
stition as any negro I ever knew. And when he would sit 
in his cabin door of pleasant evenings when the day’s 
work was done and sing the good old hymns he had mem- 
orized it made my heart glad. His favorite h3rmn was 
that beginning; 

“On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand, 

And cast a wistful eye 
To Canaan’s fair and happy land. 

Where my possessions lie.” 

Then the chorus would follow; 

“I am bound for the promised land”— etc. 

While Uncle Ned was no preacher, he had his peculiar 
theological opinions, among which was the belief that the 
black folks would be as white as anybody if they should 
ever get to heaven. Said he ; ^‘When I draps off dis here 
ole black skin I’m gwine to put on de new white robe 
lak my Jesus.” And in order to sustain his position 
by the Bible he would argue ; ^^Don’t de Scripter say dat 


243 


FOEESTFIELD 


dar wuz one hunderd an’ forty an’ four thousand whut 
corned up thew great tribulations an’ washed dar robes an’ 
made dem white in de blood of de lam’? Wal, dat means 
de po’ nigger slaves; kase dey sho is suffin great tribula- 
tions. ’Ceptin’ Miss Jane’s niggers, fur dey’s doin’ well. 
But all of ’em haf to wash dar robes ’fo’ dey kin git to 
heben.” 

During the latter part of the summer in 1862 Uncle 
Ned was taken down with typhoid fever. For many weeks 
he languished upon his bed within his little cabin hover- 
ing between life and death; and, although he had the best 
medical attention of the community and kind and at- 
tentive nursing, he gradually grew worse. 

Cousin Jane allowed not a day to pass without visiting 
the patient, if she could do so; and when she could not 
go she sent Elizabeth or Alice, and frequently did Jabez 
Johnson and myself offer our services to the sick man, for 
which kindness he would always express his gratitude: 
‘^You all’s mighty good to ole Ned; an’ ef he ever gits 
well he ain’t never gwine to fergit you.” 

It was very pathetic to see the old man lie and suffer 
through the long and hot summer days, yet without a 
single rebellious complaint. With the greatest fortitude 
and resignation he exhibited a phase of Christian faith 
which was remarkable. 

Toward the last, as the disease was gradually devouring 
his large and once stalwart frame, he was reduced to a 
mere skeleton, and as I looked into the hollow and sunken 
eyes and upon the shrunken cheeks and beheld the pinched 
visage and the tightly-drawn lips, I thought how cruel is 
death when it changes man’s countenance and sends hiTn 
away. 

Uncle Ned’s sickness extended into the early fall, and 
before he died President Lincoln issued his tentative 


FORESTFIELD 


243 


emancipation proclamation on the 22d day of September. 
The day after I heard the news, I visited the sick slave and 
found him with only Aunt Caroline, his wife, at his bed- 
side; and, taking advantage of the situation, I questioned 
him concerning the Magna Charta of his race. 

“Do you know. Uncle Ued,” said I, “that President 
Lincoln has set the negroes free?’^ 

Having fallen into a stupor, he did not fully understand 
me, and, turning his head on the pillow with his face to- 
ward me, he asked me in a feeble voice; 

“WhuPs dat you say, Marse Morris?” 

“I say that President Lincoln has set the negroes free.” 

After a considerable pause, as if he were collecting his 
thoughts, he said slowly: “Marse Lincoln is sho’ a good 
man — a mighty good man. Gaud tole him to speak de 
word — let my black chillun go! Marse Lincoln is sho’ a 
good man.” 

“Well, Uncle Hed,” I asked, “what are you and Aunt 
Caroline going to do, now you are free ?” 

“I’m got all de freedom, Marse Morris, dat I wants in 
dis work, ’ceptin’ ’tis freedom frum sin. I don’t know 
’bout Ca’line, you’ll haf to ax her. I ain’t gwine to be here 
long, nohow,” he went on, “an’ I ’spects to find my free- 
dom up yonder.” And he raised his emaciated hand and 
pointed toward the loft. 

As I could not conscientiously contradict him, I said, 
for the want of something more encouraging, “You’d bet- 
ter try to sleep now, Uncle Ned.” I then arose to go, but 
as Alice came in just then with some chicken soup for the 
sick man I remained to see if he would relish it. 

“Uncle Ned,” said Alice, approaching the bedside, “here 
is some soup mother sent you; can’t you sit up and drink 
it?” 

“Much obleged to you, honey,” he feebly replied, as he 


244 


FORESTFIELD 


made an unsuccessful attempt to raise himself up, 
mought eat a little.” 

Seeing his eiforts to rise up, I went to him, and with 
the help of his wife tried to assist him; but as it seemed to 
fatigue him, we laid him back on the pillow, when he re- 
marked: ‘^Ah, folkses! I^m feer’d ole Ned won’t set up 
no mo’.” 

Alice then took her seat upon the bedside and with a 
spoon began to feed the old man as if he were a child; but 
as death had already begun its work, by partially locking 
the jaws, it was difficult to get the spoon into his mouth; 
and as the fluid would trickle down the deep grooves upon 
his chin Alice would gently dry it away with the sick 
man’s cotton handkerchief. 

What a scene was this! I thought. Fit for the approving 
smile of the Son of God, who said: was sick and ye 

visited me * * * Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 

one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto 
me.” 

^^Just take one more spoonful. Uncle Ned,” pleaded 
Alice, ^^and I won’t bother you any more.” 

But the dying slave had taken his last spoonful of any- 
thing in this world and his appetite was changing toward 
the milk and honey of the heavenly Canaan. He fell into 
a stupor and we arose and went away. 

In the afternoon it was quite evident to all that Uncle 
Ned would never open his eyes upon another day here be- 
low. His extremities were growing cold and the blood 
was settling under his fingernails. But as life reasserted 
itself for the last time — as the sun shines out once more 
just before his setting upon a stormful day — he renewed 
his strength and asked to be taken to the window that 
opened toward the fields and the garden. 

‘^I wants to see the gward’n once mo’,” he said, ^Vhar I 


FOEESTFIELD 


245 


used to wuck de vegetables an’ de flow’rs fur Miss Jane, 
befo’ I goes up to de green fields beyan’ de swellin’ flood.” 
Cousin Jane, who was standing near, turned away at the 
mention of her name and wept bitterly. 

We then lifted the emaciated form gently up, and after 
placing a chair with a cushion on it near the window, we 
sat him down that he might look out upon the familiar 
scenes of his long life once more. 

The September sun, tempered by the approaching spirit 
of autumn, flooded the fields and the woods and rested as 
a benediction upon everything. A gentle and refreshing 
breeze passing by the window stole softly in, kissed the 
sick man’s fevered brow and went upon its way. A few 
belated flowers still bloomed in the garden, the cotton was 
opening white in the fields and the corn was turning 
brown upon the stalks; yellow butterflies flitted languidly 
from place to place and the grasshoppers jumped among 
the weeds, while upon it all rested the fate of dissolution 
toward which the year — with Uncle Ned — was hastening. 

As the dying man looked out upon the familiar scene 
his dark countenance seemed to assume a brightness that 
it had never exhibited before, as if rested upon it a gleam 
from the heavenly world; but, becoming weary, he asked 
to be carried back to his bed, which, being done, he closed 
his eyes as if in slumber. 

Believing that the end was very near. Aunt Caroline 
wished her husband to leave some dying testimony, and 
she requested me to ask him some questions to that effect, 
but before I could ask the questions he suddenly roused 
up, and, clasping his hands, remarked: ‘^Bless Gaud fur 
de Christian ’ligion. You kin have all dis wurl’, jes’ gim 
me Jesus.” 

He then lay quietly for some time as if asleep, and we 
began to conclude that it was about over with him; but, 


246 


FORESTFIELD 


rallying again and turning his eyes upward as if gazing at 
something far away, he remarked: ‘^Yonder^s Marse 
Dan’el — ^he’s er cornin’ arter me — ^lem me go an’ meet 
him — how purty he looks!” 

This brought all the watchers nearer the bedside, for 
they wished to hear every word that was spoken by the 
dying slave; and Cousin Jane was so wrought up by the 
reference to her deceased husband that she began to weep 
audibly, accompanied by the sobs of Elizabeth and Alice; 
and, seeing Cousin Jane weep so. Uncle Ned remarked: 

‘‘Don’t cry. Miss Jane, me an’ Marse Dan’el will come 
arter you soon — ^you’s been a mighty good mistis to me — 
an’ you’s sho’ got a home in heben.” 

As the sun sank toward the western horizon, so sank the 
spirit of Uncle Ned toward the horizon of immortal life; 
hut, rallying for the last time, he requested every one in 
the room to come and bid him good-by; and, taking each 
by the hand, he made some appropriate remark. To his 
weeping wife he said: “Don’t grieve arter me, Ca’line, 
’twon’t be long fo’ you sees me ergin. Be good to Miss 
Jane, an’ don’t run away kase you free. Miss Jane’s yer 
bes’ frien’.” He then went into a stupor, but soon arous- 
ing up a little his last words came back to us in a whisper, 
as one who, beginning a journey, yet turns to speak one 
more farewell word, “Good-by to all.” And Uncle Ned 
had gone to meet “Marse Dan’el,” where there is no more 
sin, nor sickness, nor pain, nor death, nor sorrow, but 
immortal rest. 

As Uncle Ned had been a consistent member of the 
Methodist Church with Cousin Jane and the rest of the 
family, she sent for the preacher in charge of the circuit 
to conduct his funeral in the church. While the old slave 
in his lifetime was content to sit in the section behind the 
pulpit assigned to the negroes, he was now allowed to lie 


FORESTFiELD 


247 


in his coffin within the chancel before the pulpit to he eu- 
logized in his death. He was dressed in his black suit 
given him by Cousin Jane before the war and which he 
always wore to church, hut nowhere else — though there 
was one exception, when he wore it to Elizabeth’s wed- 
ding. A hearse was employed to carry his body to the 
church and to the grave, followed by a large concourse of 
people, both black and white. Upon his coffin and upon 
his grave were laid sweet flowers, some of which were gath- 
ered from the old-fashioned garden which he had culti- 
vated for so many years. 

When the congregation had sung Uncle Ned’s favorite 
hymn at the church, beginning, “On Jordan’s stormy 
banks I stand,” the negroes present sang one peculiar to 
themselves, which ran thus: 

“My soul is gone to heben — 

Don’t you grieve after me. 

My soul is gone to heben — 

Don’t you grieve after me. 

My soul is gone to heben — 

Don’t you grieve after me. 

Don’t you grieve after — grieve after me.” 

And when the body had been laid in the grave, the 
mound heaped up and the flowers laid upon it, the negroes 
closed the services by singing these lines : 

“Don’t you hear dem bells er-ringin’? 

Don’t you hear dem angels singin’? 

Come along, chillun, an’ let us go.” 


248 


FOKESTFIELD 


CHAPTEK VII. 

A MYSTERIOUS INDIVIDUAL. 

D uping the month of November following the 
death of Uncle Ned, Miss Gladys Holcombe and 
Wenona made Alice a visit at Forestfield, and as 
they all sat upon the front veranda one afternoon (for the 
day was bright and pleasant for the season) there ap- 
peared at the lawn gate — Forestfield’s prospective point of 
fate — an old man walking with a stick. 

^^I wonder who that is coming through the lawn gate/’ 
remarked Alice; ^^it must be another beggar.” 

^^He must be old and crippled/’ said Miss Gladys, ‘‘the 
way he hobbles along on his stick.” 

In a few minutes the old man had reached the yard gate, 
which he entered, and, walking up to the broad stone 
steps, he took a seat without speaking a word. He seemed 
to have reached his three-score years and ten; but despite 
his age and infirmities, he showed signs of a former robust 
frame and an active life. His hair was long and white 
and curled upon his shoulders, and his whiskers, of a simi- 
lar hue, reminded one of Aaron’s beard that went down to 
the skirts of his garments. His eyes were gray, large and 
bright, in the depths of which one might have read a chap- 
ter of varied and strange history. His nose was prominent 
and bent downward from the middle, giving his face the 
resemblance to that of a bird of prey. In brief, his entire 
appearance showed that he was a man of hardihood and of 
long and intimate acquaintance with the buffeting ele- 


FOKESTFIELD 


249 


inents of nature and that he was the familiar brother of 
the storm. He seemed as if he had visited and suffered 
his Gethsemane, and had been crucified upon the cross of 
sorrow. His brow and cheeks — as brown as the chestnut — 
had been embalmed, as it were, by the dews of Hermon and 
of the hill Mizah, as he wandered with the wild beasts, 
listening to the noise of the waterspouts. He wore a pair 
of buckskin breeches adorned with fringes along the side- 
seams, a pair of Indian moccasins upon his feet, a faded 
Confederate jacket upon his body and a coonskin cap upon 
his head. 

Soon after the old traveler took his seat upon the steps 
Cousin Jane came out upon the veranda and asked him if 
he would like to have something to eat. The girls had al- 
ready asked him to come in and take a chair, but he re- 
fused. In response to Cousin Jane’s invitation he replied, 
in a wearied tone, ‘T’ll take a bite or two.” 

While Alice went to arrange the table Cousin Jane in- 
quired of the stranger as to where he came from and 
whither he was going. 

^^Ah, madam! I come from many a place, but Fm going 
to few more,” he replied in a solemn tone; going to 
the grave for one place — we must all go to the grave.” 

While at the table eating Alice took occasion to ask his 
name. He replied: ^^They used to call me ^The Gray 
Eagle,’ but they call me The beggaF now. There was a 
time, my daughter, when I could climb to the eagle’s 
nest — I must hobble on a stick now; I was once a strong 
man — I’m only as a child now.” 

‘^Where are your family?” asked Alice, with increasing 
interest. ‘'Tell me something about your people.” 

“My people,” replied the old man, as he paused with a 
far-away look in his eyes — “my people are scattered to the 
four winds. I left my white squaw among the Cherokees, 


250 


FORESTFIELD 


with Good Dog, and wandered to the West. I loved the 
chase and the war-path, but she would not go. They called 
my white squaw ‘The Good Woman Jane/ he went on, as 
he ceased to eat; “she was so good to the Cherokees and 
told them about the Great Spirit and about the happy 
hunting-grounds, and she read to them out of the little 
book. I left my little boy John with his mother and went 
upon the chase and the war-path, and I have never seen 
them since; their graves are somewhere — we’re all going 
to the grave.” 

Seeing that such reminiscences were growing painful to 
him, Alice ceased to question him, but allowed him to 
finish his meal in silence. When he was through eating 
and had returned to the veranda, Cousin Jane questioned 
him some, also, and ascertained that the old man had no 
home, but had been wandering for many a year; and, hav- 
ing become old and infirm, he wished now for a place at 
which he could spend his last days in peace. 

Cousin J ane, who was a woman of unbounded sympathy, 
assured him that he could stay at Forestfield as long as he 
wished, and he should be treated well. 

When Jabez Johnson and I came in Cousin Jane gave 
us an account of the strange character, and told us what 
she intended to do in his behalf. But Jabez, who liked 
to assume authority on other people’s premises, replied : 

“You’d better let these beggars alone, Mrs. Pemrose; 
they’ll eat your bread and meat and then steal your money. 
And who knows,” he went on, “that old feller mought be 
a Yankee spy. I b’lieve I’d drap him in the road.” 

“I’m not afraid of that old man stealing anything,” 
protested Cousin Jane. “He needs help and shall have it. 
Besides, the Bible says that we should ‘be not forgetful to 
entertain strangers, for some have thereby entertained an- 
gels unawares.’ ” 


FORESTFIELD 


251 


^^Wal, ef that old man’s an angel he hain’t show’d no 
wings,” was the characteristic reply. ^^And Fll jist tell 
you, Mrs. Pemrose, when he comes in I goes out.” 

But Jahez well knew that when Cousin Jane decided 
upon a matter it was useless to protest, for she was cer- 
tainly the mistress of Forestfield; and, of course, his oppo- 
sition soon subsided; besides, he soon learned to like the 
old stranger on account of his mysterious origin, if for 
nothing else. 

There was a small, comfortable office in the yard which 
was furnished for the Gray Eagle’s sole occupancy, from 
which he could pass to and fro when he pleased. This 
room might have been appropriately termed the ^^Eagle’s 
Nest.” 

After the stranger had been at Forestfield a short time 
it was discovered that in his boyhood he had been called 
Eichard, and in order to dispense with the more romantic 
appellation. Gray Eagle, and the more dignified name, 
Eichard, we compromised upon the simpler and more af- 
fectionate title, “Uncle Dick.” And, although he seemed 
to have a preference for the title of Gray Eagle, he sub- 
mitted and answered to the more familiar name. 

While Uncle Dick was reserved in his manners, he was 
not at all embarrassed in company; yet he seemed to pre- 
fer to talk to one person at a time, and upon such occa- 
sions he would sometimes speak quite freely of his history. 
From what he said his life seemed to have been divided 
into two distinct periods, the first being rather a vague 
impression of almost forgotten events rather than a clear 
recollection of what had really happened; while the second 
appeared with uncommon distinctness. Into the former 
he seemed to look as through a glass darkly, but into the 
latter face to face. This gave his life a double meaning. 

While interested to some extent in the general com- 


252 


FORESTFIELD 


pany, he seemed to pay special attention to Wenona, upon 
whom he seemed to look with great satisfaction; and when- 
ever she would speak his face would brighten with an- 
imation, as if her voice revived in his mind the recollec- 
tion of some distant event of the past. He seemed to have 
discovered in her the solution of some great mystery that 
had staggered his faith, perhaps, for many years. In the 
personality of the Indian maid he seemed to behold the 
spirit of some expiring hope rise to life again. 

A few weeks after the arrival of Uncle Dick at Forest- 
field the young people of the neighborhood went upon a 
nutting excursion; but as the times were so unsettled, and 
reliable escorts were scarce, they confined their search to 
the woods adjacent to their homes; and as chestnut and 
hickorynut trees were plentiful upon the plantation of 
Forestfield, we confined our search that day (for I was 
with them) to that area, which rewarded us abundantly 
for our pains. 

That Uncle Dick might get some recreation, which we 
thought he would enjoy, we invited him to go with us 
upon the excursion. To our delight he readily consented 
to go. With him it was as the release of an eagle from the 
cage. And as the giant trees, to whose roots an axe had 
never been laid, lifted their heads toward the sky that day 
and the autumn winds rushed through their branches 
with a roar like unto the first sweep of a coming storm, the 
old man’s heart was glad. For many years had he dwelt 
amid the deep shadows of the forest and listened to the 
grand march played by the bugle of the winds; and now, 
in response to the wild callings of nature, his bent and 
decrepit frame seemed to renew its strength and activity 
and to follow on. 

When we had made our way well into the woods and had 
gathered as many nuts as we cared to carry home, we sat 


FOEESTFIELD 


253 


down in a grassy and sunny place to rest. As Uncle Dick 
had given the most of his attention during the day to We- 
nona, he now proposed that she allow him to swing her in 
a grapevine swing which hung from a tree near by. To 
this she readily agreed, for it just suited her wild and 
active Indian nature. Pulling off his Confederate jacket 
and placing it in the swing for a seat, the gallant old man 
assisted the brown-cheeked maiden to her place and stood 
ready to give her a start up into the air. It seemed as if 
December and May had met for a frolic under the au- 
tumnal skies. Eunning backward until the tips of her 
toes rested upon the ground, she ran rapidly forward, and 
with a bound from the earth she shot upward like a bird 
upon the wing. Upon her return she was caught by the 
hands of Uncle Dick, with a push; and, rising higher and 
higher at each vibration, she soon reached out and plucked 
the leaves from the boughs overhead. Back and forth she 
flitted like a bird through the air, until her flights, becom- 
ing shorter and shorter, the ^^cat died,” and she alighted 
upon the ground. Eepeating the process several times, 
she then requested Uncle Dick to get into the swing and 
allow her to swing him awhile. He did so, but as his old 
head became too dizzy, he declined to rise very high, so 
with an awkward push and a twist or two, accompanied by 
a hearty laugh, the old man^s swinging, like the old 
woman’s dance, came to a speedy end. The sport at once 
became contagious, and the rest of us must needs try our 
hands at the game. 

While we were thus engaged Uncle Dick and Wenona 
retired to the trunk of a fallen tree, where they took seats 
and fell into conversation. 

Where did you come from. Uncle Dick?” inquired We- 
nona, with becoming timidity. 

“I come from many a place, my child,” he replied, '^and 


254 


FOEESTFIELD 


I^m going to but few more. I’m going to the grave, for 
one place — we must all. go to the grave.” When he said 
this he bowed his head and gazed upon the ground. 

^^Uncle Dick, I believe you used to live with the In- 
dians, didn’t you?” asked Wenona, getting a little bolder 
in her inquiries. 

Without replying directly to this he merely asked: 
‘‘Where did you live?” 

“I lived with the Indians, too, until all my people died. 
My mother was an Indian.” 

Looking at Wenona as if to verify what she had said, he 
replied: “I know that by your black hair and brown 
cheeks you’re a Cherokee — you’re a pretty Indian.” Then, 
pausing and gazing upon the ground, he went on : “Who 
were your people, and where did they die?” 

“My father was named John and my mother’s name was 
Ossaloola,” answered Wenona, sadly; “and they died in 
the West. They called my father ‘Big Bear.’ ” 

“Ah, my child! I remember Big Bear; he went to the 
West many moons ago with the Cherokee maiden Ossa- 
loola. I remember his mother, too — ^the good woman 
Jane — ^who read to the tribe of Good Dog out of the little 
book, and told them of the Great Spirit and of the hap- 
py hunting-grounds. Tell me more of your people, 
Wenona.” 

“My father and mother died about the same time and 
left me alone in the West,” she replied; “and the kind 
white people took me to their home to take care of me, and 
then they brought me back to Alabama.” 

Kesuming where he had left off. Uncle Dick continued : 
“Big Bear was my son and the good woman Jane was his 
mother. But I loved the chase and the war-path and I 
went away and left them with Good Dog. I have never 
seen them since. You are my grandchild, Wenona. Come 


FORESTFIELD 255 

and kiss your old grandfather, for the sake of your father 
and mother, now in the happy hunting grounds.’^ 

Wenona arose, and with hesitation went near the old 
man and he placed his hand upon her head and kissed her 
cheek, and then, stroking her long raven hair which hung 
in braids down her hack and looking into her dark, 
dreamy eyes, he said : 

^^May we never part, my child, until I go down into the 
grave. I have been looking for my people many years. 
Now I have found them; I am no longer alone in the 
world; I will now have someone to comfort me in my old 
age and to weep over me when I go down to the grave.’’ 
And the old man kissed his grandchild again and wept. 


256 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

A LATE SOLUTION. 

W ENONA was much surprised at the discovery of 
her old grandfather, whom she had never seen 
before. But true to the stoical nature of her 
mother’s race, she made no demonstration, hut merely 
looked at him with calm astonishment. As we gathered up 
our treasures of the woods and returned home, Uncle Dick 
and Wenona were seen to walk together in a strange but 
happy mood. 

Upon arriving at Eorestfield, Wenona suggested to 
Uncle Dick that they walk into the old-fashioned garden, 
for she thought he might be able to throw some light upon 
the history of the old Indian grave, which had been a 
mystery to the neighborhood for so many years. As they 
approached the rear of the garden Uncle Dick discovered 
the heap of stones and asked what it was. Although he 
had been at Eorestfield for several weeks, he had never 
seen the lone grave in the garden. To his question We- 
nona replied that it was the grave of an Indian squaw, 
who had been buried there by an old Indian chief just be- 
fore he left this country for the West. 

Upon hearing this the old man became very much in- 
terested, and, approaching the grave, he stood in silence 
for some time. He then raised his head, and, looking 
around as if trying to identify the spot as one with which 
he was familiar in other days, he pointed with his stick in 
one direction and then in another, and remarked: ^^My 


FOEESTFIELD 


257 


child, I have stood here before, many moons ago. Yonder 
are the blue mountains where the sun used to rise, and 
yonder is the cliff where we found the eagle’s nest, and 
there is the gap where the tornado rushed through.” After 
pausing some time, as he gazed upon the heap of stones, 
he continued as in a reverie: ^‘An old Indian woman’s 
grave — buried here when her people went to the West; her 
bones must be as white as the rock; her eyes must have 
dried up as water in the sun; her teeth must be ready for 
the medicine man; a red squaw or a white squaw, there is 
no difference in the grave.” There was another pause and 
the old man went on : “My white squaw lies somewhere; 
she may lie here; it may be my red squaw; if it be my white 
squaw, there is a gold ring around her finger; if it be my 
red squaw, there are beads about her neck; farewell till we 
meet again in the happy hunting-grounds.” 

Without asking the old man any questions, Wenona 
suggested, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, that 
they return to the house, and he followed her out of the 
garden. 

Wenona proved to be to the Gray Eagle what the little 
Jewish maid was to Naaman, the leper, his guide and in- 
terpreter in unknown regions of hopes unfulfilled. Like 
the pelican of the wilderness, he had wandered through 
the limitless shadows of the fen of despondency; and, like 
the sparrow upon the housetop, he had sat lonely and de- 
jected mourning for the lost companionship of other days. 
Suddenly there was seen a sweet young face peering 
through the shadows as the first beam of sunshine on a 
beclouded day and a gentle hand that beckoned and a 
kindly voice that called him into the open space of full 
fruition, and he followed on. He realized that at eventide 
there was light. 

When the company were ready to disperse, Wenona 


258 


FOEESTFIELD 


called Cousin Jane aside and related to her what Uncle 
Dick had said about his history, and how he had shown 
that she (Wenona) was his granddaughter; and, also, 
what he had said at the grave in the garden, all of which 
astonished Cousin Jane very much and excited in her a 
desire to know more about the mysterious stranger. But 
when she connected what the old man had said with the 
description of the articles taken from the grave by the 
Yankees a year and a half before, she began to dread the 
inevitable conclusion with which she stood face to face. 
Already she had been almost persuaded to believe that the 
bones (or dust) within the lone grave were those of her 
mother, whose captivity by the savages had occurred fifty 
years before, and which partial conviction had threatened 
to overthrow her reason. And to have that fact confirmed 
by another hypothesis of double weight, she feared that 
she could not bear it. But the stronger curiosity over- 
coming the weaker dread, she called upon me for advice as 
to whether or not she should continue the investigation. I 
advised her to do so, upon the ground that when the ex- 
citement of realization should subside, a feeling of relief 
from a terrible suspense would immediately follow. 

Wenona, as the best interpreter next to Uncle Dick, was 
constrained by Cousin Jane to spend the night at Forest- 
field that she might assist in solving the problem that lay 
before us, and when supper was over the latter invited 
Uncle Dick, Wenona and myself to meet her in the parlor 
for that purpose. 

Having brought out the articles taken from the grave, 
I spread them upon the table to be examined. But before 
the examination began I related to the company the con- 
clusion I had come to the night after the articles were dis- 
covered, that they evidently bore some connection with the 
history of our household, and it appeared so conclusive 


FORESTFIELD 


259 


that they all were forced to agree with me. Of course, my 
theory was not appreciated by Uncle Dick, for he had 
never heard of the strange episode in connection with the 
lone grave, nor even of the grave itself until that day. But 
I soon explained to him what we wished him to do. 

The sampler was the first article examined, and it was 
found to be of the following description: A piece of 
coarse linen-thread canvas eight and a half inches by ten 
inches in dimensions, worked with silk thread of various 
colors, some of which had faded. Around the piece was a 
narrow border of black, inclosing the alphabet in three 
sizes and styles and also the following inscription: ^‘Jane 
Trent was horn the year 1786, September the 10 day — ^her 
sampler — worked the year 1802. | J T y | R G ^ 

In the center was the word ^‘Thursday.” There were other 
marks of apparent significance, but they could not be de- 
ciphered. 

The interpretation of the sampler evidently showed that 
it had been the property of Jane Trent, Cousin Jane’s 
mother, and that she had done the needle-work at sixteen 
years of age. The initials and hearts indicated that she 
was then in love with her future husband, Eichard Gran- 
ville, six years before their marriage; and, according to the 
word ^^Thursday” found thereon, the sampler was certainly 
designed to complete a broken series of. seven, represent- 
ing the seven days of the week, six of which were already in 
the possession of Cousin Jane. 

When Uncle Dick looked at the sampler he showed that 
he was impressed, and in a low tone of voice he said : ‘‘My 
white squaw had one like this many moons ago,” at which 
Cousin Jane sighed deeply. 

The gold ring was next examined and found to bear, on 
the inside, as before stated, this inscription: “E. G. to 
J. T. — 1808.” The interpretation of the inscription in the 


260 


FOEESTFIELD 


ring was that Eichard Granville, the father of Cousin 
Jane, had presented the ring to Jane Trent during the 
year of their marriage. 

When Uncle Dick was handed the ring and asked what 
he thought of it, he replied : ‘‘My white squaw had a ring 
on her finger when I left her with Good Dog many moons 
ago; hut she is now in the happy hunting-grounds.’^ 

The breast-pin was an ordinary gold brooch, with no 
marks of distinction. And the head-work, which was of 
common Indian origin, bore no particular significance, 
except that it showed that the rest of the articles had been 
associated with savage life. 

When we had completed the examination of the articles, 
having submitted each one to the inspection of Uncle Dick, 
the old man bowed his head and gazed upon the floor for 
some time without speaking, while we all sat in much sus- 
pense. He then arose with tears running down his cheeks, 
and, looking at Cousin Jane, he remarked: “It is my 
white squaw; I must go to her grave; I left her many moons 
ago, when she was young, and I saw her no more; she is 
in the happy hunting-grounds, and I must go to her soon; 
let me see her grave once more before I die!” He then 
turned and left the room. 

Cousin Jane, upon whose mind had now come the 
strange conviction which she so much dreaded — the recog- 
nition of Uncle Dick as her lost father and the lone grave 
as that of her mother — fell suddenly to the floor and passed 
into unconsciousness. But we lifted her up and laid her 
gently upon the sofa and proceeded to resuscitate her as 
best we could, while Jahez Johnson went out and sent 
someone for the doctor. When the physician arrived and 
had administered a restorative the. patient was carried to 
her room, put to bed and in a few moments was sound 
asleep. 


FOEESTFIELD 


261 


After discussing the strange affair for some time with 
the doctor, who became very much interested in it, we 
turned our attention to Uncle Dick, for we feared he would 
remain too long in the garden exposed to the chill Novem- 
ber air. Accompanied by Alice and Wenona, I then went 
into the garden in search of the old man and found him 
lying prostrate upon the rough stones that covered the lone 
grave, and as the moon was shining brightly we had no 
difficulty in seeing him. There he lay, his long white hair 
waving in the night wind and his feeble hands clutching 
the grass and the stones. I went to him and called his 
name, but there was no answer. I bent low to his face, but 
could hear no breathing. I laid my hand upon his cheek 
and it was cold. I felt his pulse and his heart, but there 
was no pulsation. I turned him over, and his large gray 
eyes gazed sightless through the moonlight, but he winked 
not, for the old man was dead. Alice and Wenona then 
returned to the house and gave the alarm, and Jabez and 
the doctor came into the garden and we carried Uncle 
Dick^s body into the Eagle's Nest and laid it on the bed. 

Uncle Dick (or rather now grandfather to the children) 
was buried by the side of the white squaw of his youth in 
the old-fashioned garden, and when Cousin Jane would sit 
in meditation at the close of the day near the double grave 
she had the melancholy satisfaction to., know that she 
was keeping her evening vigils over the resting-place of 
her once lost father and mother. And Wenona, who 
would sometimes sit with her new-found relative in her 
meditations, she, too, realized that her own grandparents 
were sleeping beneath the mound. 

This late solution had wrought out new and strange 
relationships in the household of Forestfield. A little In- 
dian maid had come hundreds of miles, ten years before, 
to prove without intention that Cousin Jane (and her 


262 


FORESTFIELB 


children) had been tenderly caring for the grave of her lost 
mother, hut knew it not, and an old man, tottering upon 
the verge of the tomb, had come in from his long and dis- 
tant wanderings to confirm that conviction and to prove 
himself the lost father who had been absent for fifty years. 
But just as the long-delayed consummation was reached 
death intruded and put the period of silence to all. 

As I meditated upon these strange mutations of life the 
interrogative thought occurred to me, is there such a thing 
as natural affection? And my reason and my observation 
answered, nay. 

When Cousin Jane shook with alarm at the discovery of 
the familiar articles in the lone grave upon the night after 
they were taken out, it was not because of her affection for 
the one to whom they were supposed to belong, hut be- 
cause of the length of time they had lain hidden under 
her eyes and the remarkable means by which they had 
been brought to light. She had never known a mother’s 
love since infancy, and could not suffer the deprivation; 
nor could she reciprocate that which she had never re- 
ceived. All this had been supplied by the proxy of a 
grandmother. And when the conviction rushed upon her 
mind that her father, who had been lost for fifty years — 
yea, as if she had had no father — still lived and moved 
under her roof, she fell unconscious at his feet, it was not 
because of the discovery of a lost relative., hut because of 
the intense astonishment that struck into her brain and 
the almost resurrection of the living from the dead. 

When our dearest but long absent friends depart this 
life and we are informed of their going, it troubles us not 
so much as the death of an alien with whom we have had 
congenial associations. Affection grows not so well, ex- 
cept in the presence of its object. I think when we read 
these lines below we describe more genuine sorrow than is 


FORESTFIELD 263 

ever exercised by a bereaved friend or relative of long sepa- 
ration. 

“My bird is dead, said Nancy Ray, 

My bird is dead, I can not play; 

Go put his cage far, far away!” 

Affection is like the sun-plant, it thrives best only in the 
light of the sun which gave it life. 


264 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTER IX. 

LIFE UNDER THE BLOCKADE. 

W HEN President Lincoln issued his tentative 
proclamation of emancipation, on the 22d of 
September, 1862, to take effect, upon certain 
conditions, January 1, 1863, it threw the South into a 
state of great consternation. It was feared that the slaves, 
under the stimulus of their newly-found freedom, would 
rise in insurrection and retaliate upon their former mas- 
ters. This was particularly true within those sections of 
country occupied by the Federals, within the bounds of 
which lay Northern Alabama. 

But to the gratification of the white people and to the 
credit of the negroes, there was not one hostile move made 
on the part of the latter throughout the whole country. 
A few individual slaves here and there exhibited a harm- 
less retaliating spirit in the assumption of their freedom, 
but no overt act was committed. 

Our negroes at Forestfield, with a few exceptions, re- 
mained at home and went about the gathering of the 
crops as usual. And, although there was a Federal garri- 
son within less than ten miles of them, they showed no 
disposition to produce confusion. A few repaired to the 
Federal camps to seek more remunerative employment as 
servants and so forth. 

But when the proclamation took effect the following 
New Year’s Day most of the slaves in the community in- 
sisted upon leaving their former homes and securing em- 
ployment elsewhere, either for wages or for a part of the 


FOEESTFIELD 


265 


crop. If they could only succeed in removing to a neigh- 
boring plantation, to show their independence, they were 
satisfied. Just so they could sever their connection with 
the old slave quarters and fields was sufficient. 

This condition of affairs, of course, produced a great 
deal of confusion, and some hardships on the part of both 
master and slave. Labor being so uncertain, the planters 
knew not what plans to devise for the ensuing year. And 
as the blockade of the Confederacy was almost complete, 
many kinds of provisions were impossible to he procured. 
Coffee and sugar were rarities, except as they were secured 
in small quantities from the Federal soldiers by purchase 
or exchange. But salt could be obtained only by digging 
up the earthen floors of ancient smokehouses and extract- 
ing the saline qualities from the dirt. As for dress goods, 
they could be obtained only from the home-made loom or 
rarely from a Yankee sutler. 

I remember that Elizabeth served an apprenticeship at 
the loom in order to learn how to weave a certain kind of 
dress goods, and when she and Cousin J ane and Alice came 
out in their new home-made dresses they were the ob- 
served of all observers. 

During the year 1863 only a few of our former slaves 
remained on the plantation, and as we did not care to deal 
with negroes from other places, Forestfield was, in a sense, 
left unto itself desolate, except a small amount of land 
that Jim and myself undertook to cultivate. Jabez John- 
son confined his attention to the garden. There were sev- 
eral of the older men and their wives who remained and 
did the best they could. Nor could we have furnished any 
more hands with work-stock, as nearly all the mules and 
horses had been carried off by the Yankees. We had sim- 
ply dropped down from affluence to within a few degrees 
of poverty within less than a year. 


266 


FOEESTFIELD 


Aunt Caroline proved to be as faithful as she could, ac- 
cording to the promise made Uncle Ned, but as she was 
very old she could not be of much serAuce. She had been 
cooking for Cousin J ane ever since the latter began house- 
keeping, and no better cook could be found in all the 
country. But her art in cooking had been acquired chiefly 
under the tutelage of her mistress, who in turn had been 
taught by her Grandmother Granville. So Cousin Jane 
knew as well how to cook as how to have it done. 

Elizabeth and Alice had also been taught the art of 
cooking by their mother, and instead of emancipation and 
old age taking away from Forestfleld its only efficient cook, 
they had furnished three in her place. Thus necessity be- 
came the inspiration of latent talent that might not other- 
wise have been developed. 

For awhile our three white cooks, assisted by the black 
one, cooked each a meal a day — Cousin Jane cooked break- 
fast, Elizabeth cooked dinner and Alice cooked supper — 
which arrangement Avas based upon reasonable grounds. 
As Elizabeth had to attend to her children upon rising in 
the morning and upon retiring at night, she chose the 
noon meal; as Alice did not like to rise early in the morn- 
ing, she chose the evening meal, and as Cousin Jane was 
long in the habit of getting up early, she chose the morn- 
ing meal. Jim cut the wood and made the flres, and I 
undertook to milk the cows and to churn. 

Our cooks got along very well, save for an occasional 
burnt hand or wrist and a flushed face. Alice, being young 
and pardonably vain of her fair complexion, suffered most. 

‘Tf I didnT get so A^arm over the stove and burn my 
hands so often,” said Alice, “I wouldn’t mind cooking. 
What is the use of trying to preserve a fair complexion,” 
she used to complain, ‘‘when you are liable to blister every 
day? My hands and wrists are so badly scarred I don’t 


FORESTFIELD 


267 


feel like going in company. But as it is my duty/’ she 
philosophized, suppose I should do it without com- 
plaint.” 

I delighted in teasing Alice about her cooking some- 
times, and would criticise her meals to hear what she 
would say. Then she would tease me in return about my 
milking and churning, and by this means we kept each 
other from getting the blues. When I would put on my 
apron to go milking she would call me ^^Aunt Polly”; and 
while I was churning she would stand just out of my reach 
and sing the little ditty, beginning: 

“Come, butter, come! Come, butter, come! 

Sally’s at the little gate, waiting for the butter!” 

To this I merely kept time with the dasher, and turned 
a slight annoyance into a melody; for, as far as I cared, 
Sally might wait at the gate until she got tired and went 
home. I didn’t intend to hurry, and I told Alice so. 

I remember well that my milking experience was the 
most ^‘bardacious,” as Jabez used to say. In the winter it 
came near freezing my fingers, and in the summer the cows 
would come nigh lashing my eyes out with their tails; 
while in the meantime the more vicious animals would try 
to kick me out of the cowpen. I was at last made to feel 
as did the ^^old man who lived in the West, as you may 
plainly see; he thought he could do more work in a day 
than his wife could do in three.” And oftentimes I caught 
myself repeating : 

“Saw, Teeny! whoa. Teeny! 

My good little cow, stand still; 

For if I shall ever milk you again, 

It will be against my will.” 

Finally I grew tired of milking and determined to get a 
substitute. Strange to say, however, in the midst of so 


268 


FORESTFIELD 


many freedmen there was no substitute to be had. So I 
bad to resort to an automatic milker which someone had 
invented and was selling to such milkers as myself; and, 
scraping up the necessary money, I purchased what I 
thought would prove a labor-saver. It consisted of what 
Jabez Johnson called ^%ur calf -mouths,” to be fitted to 
the udder and a rubber air-chamber which was to be 
pressed with the hand at some distance from the cow. The 
distance from the cow, remember, was the best part of the 
machine. 

So, with Jabez as a witness, I went out one morning to 
test my new apparatus. But I had no sooner clamped one 
of my gentlest cows when she began to kick with both 
hind-feet and to run at the same time, which gave her a 
rather humping motion that was both alarming and amus- 
ing. Turning the pump-handle loose, I cried to Jabez to 
catch the cow by the horns and hold her until I could re- 
lease her from the machine. Jabez did the best he could, 
but before he could seize the cow’s horns they were too far 
away, and he had to content himself with a grab at the 
tail, which he happened to catch. Oft went the cow, the 
automatic milker and Jabez all together through the lot, 
over the fence and into the field. But Jabez went no 
further, for in crossing the fence he was compelled to let 
go the cow’s tail to save his own head. And as he rose 
to his feet, unhurt, and gazed at the frightened cow still 
kicking and running, he calmly remarked: ^‘That’s the 
bardaciousest critter I ever seed.” That cow was not seen 
again until the next day. I turned in and milked the rest 
of the cows by hand, and that was my first and last expe- 
rience with the automatic milker. 

The blockade was a greater deprivation to us than eman- 
cipation, for if we could have secured the raw material we 
could have managed in some way to prepare it for use. 


FORESTFIELD 


269 


But the providing of substitutes for the real and genuine 
taxed our ingenuity to the uttermost. Irish potatoes, 
wheat, rye and okra seed must needs serve for coffee and 
dog-wood bark for quinine. Our clothes were made of 
homespun, our hats of straw and our shoes of old saddle- 
skirts and buggy curtains. Yet there is no lovelier pic- 
ture in my memory of war times than Alice Pemrose at- 
tired, upon a Sunday morning,' in her home-woven and 
home-made dress of checked drab, cut to fit her graceful 
figure. With every seam inlaid with red calico cordage 
and the collar and cuffs of red in soldier style, she ap- 
peared as the personification of economy and patriotism. 
Upon her head was a wheat-straw hat, bleached in sulphur 
fumes inclosed in a barrel and bedecked with a black 
ostrich feather saved from more prosperous times. Her 
feet were inclosed in home-knit stockings and home-made 
shoes, the latter cut from the buggy apron and stitched 
with cotton thread; and with the glow of health upon her 
cheeks and the light of modesty in her eyes, she was a 
model among the little rebel maids of the South. 

I shall never forget our sorghum-making in those sugar- 
less days. Before the war we used to ship our cotton to 
New Orleans and bring back our sugar-house molasses by 
the half dozen barrels, along with our sugar and coffee. 
And there was never a lack, as Jabez used to say, of either 
‘^short-sweetening” or “long-sweetening” at Forestfield. 

That sorghum-making in those days was a tedious 
business, though it furnished its recreations as well. We 
had to depend upon a wooden home-made mill and a cop- 
per kettle. The former was constructed in “the barrens,” 
a strip of black-jack and broomsedge country that lay some 
ten miles north of Forestfield, and the latter had been the 
receptacle in which we scalded our fattening hogs before 
(.the war. Charles Holcombe and myself went after the 


270 


FOEESTFIELD 


mill one day in an ox-wagon, and as we were on our way 
through the barrens we came suddenly upon a column of 
Federal cavalry marching along the road. Charles was 
rather frightened at first, fearing that they might molest 
us; and I must confess, also, to some apprehension in meet- 
ing the enemy so suddenly in such a secluded district. 
They looked at us, made some commonplace remark and 
passed on. It was late at night before we arrived at home, 
and, having to travel through the darkness in such un- 
jointed times, was not at all agreeable. 

When we arrived with our new sorghum-miU Miss Pe- 
nelope French, one of our town girls, was at Forestfield 
to spend a week or so. When she came out the next morn- 
ing to examine the mill she passed her soft hand over the 
smooth rollers and remarked: ^^Oh, I think it is per- 
fectly lovely! It will certainly make beautiful molasses.’’ 

Miss Penelope was one who was liable to ask at any 
time which cow gives the buttermilk, and why every coun- 
try village does not have a county court house. Her waist 
was like that of a wasp, her neck like unto a giraffe’s, and 
she liked to wear elbow-sleeves, with bracelets and ear- 
rings and much whitening upon her face. She believed in 
what Mrs. Letitia Barbauld once wrote to a lady friend: 
‘‘Your waist must be of the circumference of two oranges — 
no more.” The reader has no doubt seen such an one as 
Miss Penelope in his time. But she was exceeding kind. 

Our mill was not complete when it came from the shop, 
for it lacked a lever and a foundation upon which to rest. 
So we went into the woods — Charles and I — and cut a 
sassafras in the shape of half a bow and fitted it on the 
tennon of one of the rollers, and then put up two stout 
posts and fastened the mill upon them, placed a tub under 
the mouth of the trench to catch the juice and the mill 
was ready for grinding. 


FORESTFIELD 


271 


Having first cut and stripped the cane, we hauled it to 
the mill and deposited it nearby in piles, which the chil- 
dren thought looked like long sticks of candy, and who 
followed up their fancy by constantly chewing the Joints 
from morning until night. Even Jahez Johnson’s old 
toothless gums frequently attacked the Juicy pulp. In- 
deed, all of us chewed sugarcane, from little Virginia Hol- 
combe up to Miss Penelope French, who was in mortal 
dread of spoiling her pretty mouth. 

Being ready to grind, we hitched up ‘^old Yank,” a 
horse given us by the Federals because he had been dis- 
abled for service by a piece of shell that struck him upon 
the hock- Joint of one of his hind-legs. He had proved a 
faithful artillery horse, and we thought he would be glad 
to pull a sorghum-mill for a change; and I must say that 
old Yank was as faithful in the pursuits of peace as among 
the dangers of war. But the old horse was not required 
to pull the mill constantly, for we had an old mule that 
had escaped the enemy’s hands by being unworthy of 
military service. So ^^old Pete” was brought out to 
'^spell” old Yank and divide the work equally with 
him. 

It was Jahez Johnson’s duty to attend to the grinding 
of the cane, while I attended to the boiling of the Juice into 
sorghum. As the short days were not long enough for con- 
verting the Juice into sorghum, we were compelled to keep 
our fires burning late into the night, and as this gave a 
rather romantic cast to the business, the young ladies of 
the neighborhood were attracted to our sorghum-mill like 
bees to a flower. Indeed, assisted by the few young men 
of the community, they would sometimes have candy-pull- 
ings around the boiling kettle, and many a yard of “linked 
sweetness long drawn out” was laid in the blue-edged 
dishes to cool. Thus we were able to gild the sombre rim 


272 


FORESTFIELD 


of the cloud of war with the light of merriment and to 
strike the chord of laughter in the midst of tears. 

I still hear the creaking of the sorghum-mill through 
these forty and more years, which, though harmonizing 
with those discordant times, has since been softened into a 
distant melody that lingers in the heart; and mingled with 
it are the glad words and merry laughter of those who once 
sat with us around our furnace fires late into the autumn 
nights, when the mocking-bird sang from the tree-top his 
madrigals and the cricket chirped his happy notes from 
the lowly grass. 

But those cheerful friends in the days of our adversity, 
with old Yank and old Pete, the cricket and the bird, have 
long since gone the way of all the earth. Their songs are 
dumb, the love-light of their eyes has gone out with the 
furnace fires, and their glad words and merry laughter 
have died away within the silence of the years. 

Sometimes, in visiting the spot where once stood the 
old sorghum-mill, I fancy that I yet strike my foot against 
the stubby posts upon which it rested, when it suddenly 
awakens the memories of the past, as when one cometh 
unexpectedly upon the sunken mound that covers the dust 
and ashes of a whilom friend. 


FORESTFIELD 


273 


CHAPTER X. 

ONLY A DIRT-DOBBER’s NEST. 

W ITHIN a few miles of Forestfield stood the Le 
Gare mansion, which, in style of architecture 
and surroundings, might have been considered 
its counterpart. Its owner, Colonel Le Gare, upon whose 
political head a price was set, on hearing of the approach 
of the Federal army, had refugeed, with the most of 
his family and the greater portion of his slaves, farther 
south, leaving his eldest daughter. Miss Katharine, to take 
care of the property which could not be removed, and as 
company and protection for her the overseer, Mr. Tatum, 
and his family had moved into the big house. 

As Colonel Le Gare had taken such an active part in 
procuring the secession of the Southern states and had 
aided them so liberally in trying to maintain that rela- 
tionship, he had become very obnoxious to the Federal 
government, and there was much probability that his prop- 
erty would become subject to fire and co-nfiscation. This 
continuous menace, therefore, kept the inmates of the 
mansion in much trepidation in regard to the approaching 
enemy. 

During the spring of 1864 Alice, who was an intimate 
friend of Miss Katharine’s, went over to the Le Gare man- 
sion upon the invitation of her friend to spend several 
days, and as they were one day sitting near the front win- 
dow of the parlor, which overlooked the public road, the 
housemaid came running into the room with much excite- 


274 : 


FOBESTFIELD 


ment, exclaiming : Yankees is cornin’, Miss Kath’ine! 

De Yankees is cornin’!” 

Upon looking out of the window down the broad avenue 
of oaks, the young ladies beheld a number of horsemen in 
blue just entering the lawn gate, and in a few minutes a 
Federal captain, with a squad of men, rode up to the yard 
gate, and, saluting very politely, asked if that was the 
home of Colonel Le Gare. 

‘It is,” answered Miss Katharine, trying to preserve her 
composure. 

“Well,” rejoined the captain, with the hrusqueness of a 
soldier, “I have orders to perform the disagreeable duty of 
burning this house.” 

“I hope you will allow us to get out before doing so,” 
replied the young lady, with some resentment, and who 
was not at all surprised at the information. 

“Of course; but you will not be allowed to take anything 
out of the house,” added the officer, who by this time had 
dismounted and entered the yard and ordered his men to 
surround the mansion. 

In the meantime Alice had become very much excited 
and anxious to return home. But as there was no one to 
accompany her she was forced to remain and witness the 
threat of vandalism carried out. Besides, she felt it her 
duty to stand by her friend in this unusual trial. So she 
remained. 

At this juncture a funeral procession on foot entered 
the lawn gate, attending the remains of a child to the Le 
Gare family burying-ground, and when the attention of 
the officer was called to the fact he showed that he was a 
man of some consideration and feeling by proposing to 
postpone his disagreeable duty until after the funeral. 

From some cause the grave had not been completed in 
time and it was necessary to place the coffin upon the 


FOEESTFIELD 


275 


veranda of the mansion and await the delayed prepara- 
tions. With the mourners in attendance, the overseer’s 
family, Miss Katharine and Alice, the captain and his 
men, with a few negroes standing around, there was quite 
a medley of humanity awaiting the disposal of the dead. 
Thus the sanguinary and fiery spirit of war was brought in 
touch with the innocent spirit of childhood, which Jesus 
said was the true exponent of the kingdom of heaven. The 
grim procession of war stood still in silent respect as the 
procession of innocence passed by. 

Upon the request of someone the lid of the little coffin 
was removed, and those who wished to do so were allowed 
to view the face of the remains. When a goodly number 
had looked upon the dead child and no others seemed dis- 
posed to do so the captain stepped forward and gazed upon 
the little cold face, when the tears began to fiow down his 
cheeks, induced, perhaps, by the thought of a similar 
scene — personally sad to himself — which had once taken 
place in his far-away home. At this revelation of tender 
feeling on the part of the officer. Miss Katharine took heart 
and hoped that he might, at last, relent and spare the 
house. 

The grave having been completed, the pall-hearers took 
up the coffin and resumed their march to the hurying- 
ground, followed by the entire assembly, save the overseer. 
Miss Katharine and Alice and the captain and his men. 

As it would still he some time before the burial would 
be completed. Miss Katharine resolved that, with the help 
of the overseer, she would improve the opportunity in try- 
ing to dissuade the officer, if possible, from executing his 
cruel purpose, and in order to do so she attempted to dis- 
arm him by first directing the conversation toward the 
theme suggested by the sad scene which had just trans- 
pired. This she succeeded in doing for awhile, but when 


276 


FOEESTPIELD 


the officer saw that the armistice was about to expire he 
gathered up his courage like a soldier and boldly reverted 
to the performance of the disagreeable duty yet too long 
delayed. 

In the meantime Miss Katharine had invited the captain 
and the overseer into the parlor, where she had been sit- 
ting when advised of the approach of the Federals. Here 
she resolved, under the advantage of courtesy, to conduct 
her negotiations as hastily as possible. 

‘‘Captain,^’ said she, with despairing emphasis, ‘‘do you 
really intend to set fire to this house and not allow us to 
take anything out of it?” 

“I do, madam,” he replied, in a firm but regretful tone, 
“but it will be done only in obedience to orders. It is a 
very painful duty to me,” he continued, “but a soldier, you 
know, cannot consult his feelings.” 

“But I think you might consult the feelings of other 
people, when it is possible to do so, even if you should fail 
to strictly execute your orders,” pleaded the young lady. 
“Here is Mr. Tatum and his family, who, though they 
might find another shelter, will be left destitute of every- 
thing else. Surely you will allow them to save their own 
effects. As for myself, I suppose I can get along in some 
way.” 

“I perfectly agree with you, madam,” replied the cap- 
tain, “as far as sympathy goes, but there is no alternative 
left me but to strictly obey orders; and I think you should 
give me some credit for having sympathy and lay the blame 
where it belongs.” 

“I appreciate your position, sir,” she replied; “but I do 
not believe you would be held accountable for exercising 
mercy. Surely you are allowed some discretion!” 

“Absolutely none, madam, in this case,” rejoined the 
officer, as he rose promptly to his feet. “And you must 


FORESTFIELD 


277 


excuse me for commanding you and your friends to leave 
the house at once, as I can no longer postpone my duty, 
however painful it may be.” 

When Alice heard herself referred to by a positive com- 
mand to leave the house (for she had in the meantime 
entered the parlor) she was inclined to obey at once, and 
arose and started toward the door; but upon her friend’s 
request to wait awhile, she stopped and returned to her 
seat. Alice was very much surprised at the delay that 
Miss Katharine had caused the officer to suffer, but she did 
not comprehend the power that a fascinating woman, 
pleading for the right, could have over the admiring spirit 
of man. But here was a virile example that startled her. 

When Miss Katharine was first informed that the Fed- 
erals were approaching and she looked out and saw them 
at the lawn gate, she hurriedly concluded, from what she 
had heard of them, that they would not only burn the 
house, but would first search it and all its inmates in hope 
of booty; and, acting upon this impulsive decision, she 
ran upstairs and procured her jewels, including a valuable 
diamond. Eeturning, she gave the larger pieces and less 
valuable to the housemaid, supposing that the intruders 
would hardly expect to find jewelry in the possession of a 
negro servant. But the diamond she kept herself, hoping 
that on account of its diminutiveness she might conceal it 
from the suspected looters. Having but a short time in 
which to act and a shorter time in which to decide to act, 
she seized a pair of scissors and with the pointed prong 
wrenched the jewel from its setting, and, mounting a 
chair, thrust it into a dirt-dobber’s nest which the busy 
insect was just completing upon the casing of the parlor 
window. But why she did this she could scarcely tell, 
unless it was a mere freak of anxious excitement. 

Tn came the dobber with its hod of mortar; then, flying 


278 


FORESTFIELD 


out, soon returned with another, and another, and still an- 
other, until the jewel was hermetically sealed within the 
mud-house as the most valuable deposit ever made within 
the nest of an insect. And by the time the Federal officer, 
with his men, arrived and requested that all should leave 
the mansion, the nest of the dohher was completed, and 
its faithful builder had left it alone with its treasures of 
dohher eggs, young spiders and the jewel. 

During her pleading with the captain in behalf of the 
overseer and his family. Miss Katharine, with the other 
halves of her brain and heart, paid strict attention to the 
dirt-dohber’s nest. Every now and then she would cast a 
furtive glance at the nest, hut with constant fear that the 
officer would suspect something and decide to search the 
house. But how to procure the diamond before leaving 
the house she scarcely knew. Neither could Alice keep 
her eyes from wandering toward the precious nest, which 
seemed to Miss Katharine to doubly endanger the discov- 
ery of the jewel. 

But the crisis of the matter arrived at last, and she must 
needs act boldly if she expected to save a valuable jewel 
from a conflagration that would leave little else of worth. 

‘‘I must insist, madam, that you and your friends retire 
from the house at once,” repeated the captain, as he 
walked resolutely about the room, ^Hhat I may perform my 
duty.” 

'‘If you will bum the house and all it contains we must 
submit, I suppose,” replied Miss Katharine; "but I wish 
to make one request of you, sir, which I trust you will not 
refuse.” 

"What is that?” quickly asked the officer, who evidently 
expected another appeal for mercy. 

"It is to allow me to take with me that dirt-dobber’s 
nest above the window.” 


FORESTFIELD 


279 


dirt-dobber’s nest?’^ he inquired, with ridicule in 
his voice. “Only a dirt-dobber’s nest! Of course I will 
grant that. But why do you wish to save only a dirt-dob- 
ber’s nest?” he continued, becoming interested in spite of 
himself and losing sight of his former determination. 

“Well, I have always taken a deep interest in the habits 
of insects, and especially in the dobber that built that 
nest,” replied the young lady. “And I have sat here from 
day to day and watched it come and go with so much reg- 
ularity and perseverance that I became attached to it and 
hate to see its house destroyed. Will you please step upon 
that chair and take the nest down for me?” 

“Why — of — course — I will,” said the captain, with hes- 
itation; “but I must confess that you remind me of Jonah 
grieving over the withered gourd-vine, when Nineveh was 
threatened with destruction.” And, stepping nimbly upon 
the chair, he detached the nest from the window, stepped 
down and placed it in the young lady’s hand, for which 
she thanked him very kindly. 

When Alice saw this display of shrewdness and audacity 
in her friend she was astonished beyond measure. 

Wrapping the nest within her handkerchief. Miss Kath- 
arine beckoned to Alice to follow her, and passed from the 
room into the hall, placed a sunbonnet upon her head and 
left the house where she had been bom and reared and 
had spent so many happy years, never to enter it again. 

Ordering the family carriage. Miss Katharine and Alice 
got in and drove over to Forestfield. But as the vehicle 
rolled down the grand avenue of oaks, taking the former 
away from her doomed home, she could not forbear leaning 
out of the window to take a farewell glance at the scenes 
she loved so well, but which, perhaps, she would never be- 
hold again. And as she saw at that instant the soldiers 
put the torch to the house she placed her handkerchief 


280 FOEESTFIELD 

to her eyes, drew back into the carriage and wept bit- 
terly. 

When the young ladies had reached Forestfield and 
were recounting to the family the incidents of the sad epi- 
sode through which they had passed, I asked Miss Katha- 
rine what she had saved from the conflagration of her 
father’s mansion. She drew her handkerchief from her 
pocket to show me the jewel, but there were found only a 
few fragments of dried mud, the diamond having been 
lost when she leaned out of the carriage window. Her an- 
swer to my question was : ‘‘Only a dirt-dobbeFs nest.” 


FORESTFIELD 


281 


CHAPTER XI. 

A TRAGEDY AT THE DOOR. 

A nother year of the war had rolled by with its 
conflicts, victories and defeats; deprivation fol- 
lowed deprivation; letters from onr soldiers came 
few and far between; and those disjointed times dragged 
themselves tediously along, hut no less destructively, into 
the summer of 1864. And for several months the confla- 
gration of Colonel Le Gare’s mansion still flamed upon our 
startled vision and the hot ashes of desolation still lay, as 
it were, upon all our hearts. But we little thought how 
soon we should be called upon to pass through similar 
fiery trials. 

In the meantime Mr. Tatum, the overseer, who was liv- 
ing in the Le Gare mansion, removed to the overseer’s 
house, which had been spared the torch, and Miss Katha- 
rine had been invited to remain at Forestfield until she 
could make preparations to pass through the Federal lines 
and make her way to her people further south. 

One evening about dusk in the first part of June there 
rode up to Forestfield two men on horseback, who ap- 
proached the house very cautiously, dismounted, hitched 
their horses and walked up to the veranda. Cousin Jane 
and myself were sitting upon the veranda at the time dis- 
cussing the burning of the Le Gare mansion a few months 
before, and the mood into which our reflections had thrown 
us was full of apprehension and dread. 

As the two men approached the house through the semi- 


2S2 


FORESTFIELB 


darkness we heard the clanking as of sabres upon the brick 
walk and the clicking of spurs, which led us to believe 
that our callers were Federal cavalrymen; and, as in those 
perilous days, our hearts sank within us as we wondered 
what our unceremonious visitors might want. 

As I arose to meet the men with at least a formal cour- 
tesy they stepped upon the veranda, when one of them 

said in a suppressed tone: ^‘How do you do, Mr. Mc- 

Clure?” And he extended his hand, at which I became so 
confused that I did not know whether to take his hand or 
not. But I thought rather than offend even an enemy 

(for they were then plentiful in the country) I would 

take his hand, upon which he gave me a cordial grip; and, 
leaning forward, he placed his mouth to my ear and whis- 
pered, ‘^Henry Le Gare and Tom Whitfield.” His com- 
panion then advanced and extended his hand also, which 
I grasped and became somewhat relieved. But as the 
speaker’s voice was not loud enough to be recognized, I 
was still in doubt and fearing that I was being imposed 
upon. 

Cousin Jane, who had now risen to her feet, still thought 
the men were Federals, although she could not understand 
why one of them should whisper into my ear; and to second 
my courtesy toward the callers she said: ^‘Gentlemen, 
take seats.” But, instead of accepting her invitation, the 
speaker advanced toward her and said in a low tone : ‘^How 
do you do, Mrs. Pemrose?” 

By this time Cousin J ane had begun to suspicion some- 
thing more agreeable than she had expected; and, being 
satisfied that at least one of our visitors was a neighbor 
soldier boy and a friend, I approached her and whispered 
their names into her ear, upon which assurance she at 
once invited them into the house and we were soon seated 
around the evening lamp with the rest of the family. But 


FORESTFIELD 


283 

for fear that some of the negroes might approach the door 
of the family room and discover two Confederate soldiers 
harbored in our house, we retired to the parlor, which was 
not so much exposed, leaving someone to guard the ap- 
proaches and to stop all intruders. 

Henry Le Gare was the son of Colonel Le Gare, whose 
mansion had been burned by the Federals, and from which 
was saved only a dirt-dobber’s nest; and he had come to 
visit the sad scene of his family’s misfortune, while his 
command was passing in comparatively a short distance 
from the place. Tom Whitfield was a comrade of his and 
had some relatives further on whom he intended to visit, 
and as there were no comfortable accommodations at the 
Le Gare place, the soldiers decided (if the coast was clear) 
to spend the night at Forestfield. Henry Le Gare was 
very much gratified to meet his sister that night, for he 
did not know where she was staying since the destruction 
of their home. 

But now our fear of the enemy which had disturbed us 
so much at first was suddenly transformed into the fear of 
our friends, and we began to regret the necessity which 
brought Henry Le Gare and Tom Whitfield to Forestfield, 
dressed in Confederate uniforms. We were glad to see the 
soldier boys, of course, but were sorry to meet ihem under 
such hazardous circumstances. However, we resolved to 
be as cautious as possible, hoping that nothing disastrous 
would occur. 

^^The burning of our house,” said Le Gare, when the 
parlor door had been closed and the blinds had been drawn, 
^Vas the most uncalled for and dastardly deed that a civil- 
ized enemy could commit, and if I ever have the opportu- 
nity,” he went on, striking his fist upon the table, shall 
make old Colonel Homer suffer for it.” 

^'Oh, no, Henry,” remonstrated Cousin Jane, kindly; 


284 


FOEESTFIELD 


^^don’t you remember that the Bible says Vengeance is 
mine, I will repay, saith the Lord?’ ” 

^‘Yes, ma’am; but I shall act as the instrument in the 
hands of the Lord,” replied the soldier, in a defensive way. 
^^But still, while I could not help weeping when I read 
Sister Katharine’s account of the burning, I was provoked 
to laughter when I read that all that was saved from the 
fire was a dirt-dobber’s nest.” 

At this we all laughed heartily and began to dispose of 
our apprehensions in connection with the presence of our 
soldier friends, and the conversation grew more and more 
interesting. Miss Katharine and Alice had monopolized 
the society of Tom Whitfield, the former having apparently 
forgotten the presence of her brother under the fascinat- 
ing war talk of his comrade, and the three had withdrawn 
to a comer of the room all to themselves. 

Every now and then Le Gare, who had not forgotten a 
soldier’s caution, would get up and go to the front hall 
door and look out into the night lest he and his comrade 
should be surprised by the enemy and captured, though 
he had heard of no roving parties of Federals in that 
neighborhood that day. The Federal garrison was some 
eight miles distant, at Hunterstown. 

The soldiers’ horses had not been put up, for the reason 
that their riders had decided not to spend the night at 
Forestfield, but to continue their journey about twelve 
o’clock. But they had taken otf their sabres, yet retaining 
their pistols for fear something might happen unexpect- 
edly and they might need them. They carried no guns 
upon this expedition, as they would have proved too cum- 
bersome for rapid movement. They expected to do more 
running than fighting. 

As the evening wore away and Le Gare arose to make 
another reconnoiter, Whitfield insisted that he be allowed 


FOBESTFIELD 


285 


to go this time, as his comrade had been doing all the 
guard duty of the night. But Elizabeth, who had no ap- 
prehension of danger, interposed and suggested that her 
little son, Charles, he allowed to stand picket awhile, as 
the family wished to talk to their visitors as much as pos- 
sible while they were there. 

^^Yes, Charles can go this time,” said Le Gare; ^^he may 
have to he a soldier yet, before this war is over.” 

The lad went and remained out for some time, for he 
was not afraid, having become accustomed to danger dur- 
ing those dark days of the war. 

“1 have been told,” said Le Gare, as Charles passed out 
of the room, ^That Clem Bates, who deserted the Confed- 
erates and joined the Yankees, had something to do with 
the burning of our house. Do you know anything about 
it, Mr. McClure?” 

know nothing personally about it,” I replied, ^^but 
the report was out that Bates led the Yankees to the place 
and persuaded them to burn the mansion.” 

^^Yes, I know he did,” volunteered Jahez Johnson, in 
his candid way, “fur one of the Yankees told me so. Clem 
Bates went to old Colonel Horner (the meanest Yankee 
that was ever in North Alabama) and told him that he 
ought to burn Colonel Le Gare’s house to the ground, fur 
it wuz the property of the wust ^secesh’ in the country.” 

“Well, if he did,” replied Le Gare, with vengeance in his 
eye, “he^ll certainly receive his deserts if he is ever cap- 
tured.” 

At this juncture Charles Holcombe returned from his 
picket-post and reported that he had seen someone stand- 
ing near the parlor window behind the honeysuckle vine. 

“Were the horses still standing at the gate?” asked 
Whitfield. 

“Yee, sir,” answered the lad. 


286 


FOEESTFIELD 


^^Let me go and investigate the matter,” said Le Gare, 
as he rose to his feet and started toward the door, with 
Charles following him. 

‘^Come hack, Charles,” called his mother; ^^you don’t 
know who’s out there.” The lad obeyed. 

‘T don’t think Charles saw anyone,” suggested Cousin 
Jane; ^‘he must have been mistaken.” But her belief was 
biased by her desire. 

Le Gare crept to the door and then down to the end of 
the veranda and discovered a man, as Charles had said, 
crouching behind the honeysuckle vine. 

‘^Who’s there?” inquired Le Gare, as he drew his re- 
volver. 

‘‘A friend,” replied the eavesdropper, as he straightened 
up. 

^^Come out, then, and let yourself be known,” demanded 
Le Gare. 

As the eavesdropper approached the Confederate the 
former quickly raised his pistol and fired at the latter and 
then jumped out into the yard and started toward the 
gate. 

^‘Halt!” cried Le Gare. But upon the man’s refusing to 
stop he fired, also, and the eavesdropper fell. 

At the report of the pistol shots everyone in the parlor 
jumped to his feet and Whitfield ran at once to the aid of 
his comrade. The women all screamed and the children 
cried as they gathered about Jabez and myself and pleaded 
with us not to leave the room. But as soon as I could con- 
vince them of the importance of my going out and ascer- 
taining what had happened, I rushed to the veranda in 
time to see the Confederates mount their horses and ride 
rapidly toward that side of the lawn next to the moun- 
tain, which was about a half-mile distant. At the same 
time I heard the sound of horses’ feet and the clanking of 


FORESTFIELD 


287 


sabres coming from the direction of the lawn gate as if a 
hundred horsemen rode poste-haste toward the house. But 
when they arrived upon the spot where they hoped to cap- 
ture the Confederates (for they were Federal cavalry) our 
boys had cleared the fence and were fleeing rapidly across 
the plantation toward the mountain. But in the mean- 
time a squad of Federals who had heard the fugitives cross 
the fence had started in oblique pursuit and firing as they 
rode. Soon giving up the chase as futile, they returned to 
the main body. 

The captain commanding the Federal detachment then 
came into the house for a light with which to search for 
the eavesdropper, who had not yet reported; and while 
walking across the yard he found the poor fellow lying 
dead among the box, with his white and ghastly face 
turned toward the star-lit skies. The body was then 
brought upon the veranda and laid out upon a bench. 

Wishing to show that we were in no way connected with 
the tragic affair, I approached the officer and offered ter 
explain the situation the best I could; and, somewhat 
to my surprise, he appeared very willing to hear my state- 
ment. I told him that the men who fled across the field 
were Confederate soldiers and our friends, who had 
dropped in to see us on their way through the country, 
and that when they discovered the man eavesdropping at 
the window and commanded him to halt as he ran away, 
he fired on them and was fired at in return and was killed. 
I told him, furthermore, that he could hardly expect us 
to refuse to give supper to our hungry friends, when 
we had fed hundreds of Federals when they called for 
food. 

^^Why, of course, I do not blame you,” replied the cap- 
tain, ^^as you were helpless in the matter. I believe I 
should have acted just as you did. But I am very sorry,” 


288 


FOEESTFIELI) 


he continued, ^^that we did not capture your rebel friends 
and that we lost one of our men.” 

^^Captain,” said a lieutenant, as he approached us, ^‘do 
you not know that the dead man was a deserter from the 
Confederates to us, and that he was bom and reared in 
this country?” 

^^Yes, I know that,” replied the captain; ^Tie is the noto- 
rious Clem Bates, who has been wreaking vengeance upon 
his former friends and neighbors as a spy ever since he 
joined us. I do not like to criticise a dead man in his 
presence,” he went on, ^^but I have heard that he was a 
bad man and unreliable on both sides.” 

come mighty nigh gittin’ one of them Johnnie rebs,” 
boasted a trooper, as he strutted among his comrades; ^^for 
I was close enough to him to hear my bullets hit his sad- 
dle. But his horse was too fast for mine, and he left me 
like a jack rabbit would a bench-legged fice.” 

‘^Shut up your bragging there, Joe,” replied another 
trooper; “you couldn’t hit a reb if he was still as a post. 
You’d be so darned scart you couldn’t.” 

“You believe the half of that, Jake,” rejoined the other, 
“and you’d believe half a lie.” 

“Oh, you’re no good, anyways,” was the concluding 
reply. 

At the close of my interview with the officer we walked 
into the veranda where lay the dead man, when I asked 
the former if he would not convey the body into the house 
and allow it to remain until morning; for I wished to con- 
ciliate the enemy as much as possible, seeing the situation 
we were in. Besides, I was well acquainted with Clem 
Bates’ family and wished to treat his remains with respect 
for their sake. 

“No, thank you,” replied the captain. “I shall make 
arrangements to take the body to camp to-night.” 


FOEESTFIELD 


289 


I then offered him the use of our carriage and horses 
for the purpose, which he gladly accepted with thanks, 
promising to return them the next day. The carriage was 
brought out, the body placed within, accompanied by two 
troopers, and they were soon ready for their funeral march. 
But before they started Cousin Jane asked me to invite 
the captain into the parlor, as she had a request to make 
of him. He entered and took a seat, when Cousin Jane 
remarked : 

hope you understand and appretnate our situation, 
captain, as Mr. McClure explained it to you. He told you 
exactly how the affair happened, and that we had nothing 
whatever to do with it. You know the danger to which we 
shall be exposed,” she went on, in an agitated voice; “and 
I wish you to intercMe for us and save us if you can.” 

“I shall certainly do so, madam,” replied the officer. “I 
know it is the policy of the authorities to retaliate upon 
the citizens of a neighborhood where such as this occurs; 
but I shall do my best to get the commander of the post to 
look at the matter in a just and merciful light.” 

“We shall be under many obligations to you, captain,” 
I added, in order to reinforce what Cousin Jane had said. 

“You need have no fears, I think,” he remarked, “con- 
sidering how it happened and who the victim was.” And, 
turning to the lieutenant, he ordered him to get the troop 
ready for the march. 

Soon the last Federal, with arms reversed behind the 
funeral carriage, disappeared in the darkness and left us 
to our thoughts, which could not be well described. 

“If the Yankees do not burn our house,” suggested Cou- 
sin Jane, “I am afraid that some friend of Clem Bates 
will do it for revenge. I am very sorry those young men 
ever stopped here,” she added, with much regret in her 
tone; “they should have been more prudent.” 


290 


FORESTFIELD 


think the captain will intercede successfully for us,” 
I replied, '%r I believe him to be a sincere man.” 

do I,” responded Cousin Jane; ‘T^ut I fear others 
whom he cannot control. Did you not hear some of the 
troopers making threats?” 

‘‘Well, they can do no harm,” I said, in a consoling way, 
“as they have no authority.” 

As we retired that night it was not to sleep, notwith- 
standing the confidence we had in the captain ; but pain- 
ful apprehensions and dire forebodings routed slumber 
from our eyelids, and during the night I could hear Cou- 
sin Jane — poor woman — groaning in her sleep, as she and 
Alice occupied the room just across the hall from mine. 
The involuntary expressions which she used most fre- 
quently were: “Don’t set our house afire! We’ve done 
you no harm!” 


FOKESTFIELD 


m 


CHAPTER XII. 

ASHES — DESOLATION. 

T he next morning, which was Sunday, the car- 
riage was returned in charge of a corporal and five 
men, with the thanks of the captain; and as I 
recognized the corporal as having been at Forcstfield the 
night before, I determined to ask him what he thought of 
our prospects of escaping a retaliation for the death of 
Clem Bates. 

‘^You needn’t to fear anything, my friend,” he replied; 
know the captain to he a good man and the colonel 
thinks lots of him. He won’t let your house he burnt.” 

This brief interview, which was conducted in the pres- 
ence of the family, proved very consoling to them, hut it 
never quite removed all apprehension. However, Cousin 
Jane decided to attend church that day, some four miles 
distant. She thought it better to attend worship and try 
to cast her burden on the Lord than to remain at home and 
hear it alone. So she. Miss Katharine Le Gare, Alice, Eliz- 
abeth and her three children all got into the carriage and 
were driven by Jim to church. They were not afraid, for 
Jim was a very reliable negro and could he trusted im- 
plicitly. Charles rode upon the box with the driver. 
Jahez Johnson and myself remained at home, as it would 
not have been proper to leave the house entirely alone. 

The minister who preached that day happened to select 
a subject that was very congenial to the feelings of Cousin 
Jane; yea, it was congenial to the feelings of everyone in 


292 


rOEESTFIELD 


the congregation, as all realized that those were times 
that tried men’s souls. The preacher read as a lesson the 
fifty-seventh Psalm, and used the first verse as a text : ‘^Be 
merciful unto me, 0 God, he merciful unto me; for my soul 
trusteth in thee; yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I 
make my refuge, until these calamities he overpast.” 

The principal hymn he announced began as follows : 

‘‘God is the refuge of His saints, 

When storms of sharp distress invade; 

Ere we can offer our complaints. 

Behold Him present with His aid.” 

In the progress of his discourse the preacher said : ‘The 
Psalmist here complains of his dangerous condition in the 
midst of his enemies and then flees to God in prayer, 
which results in praise and thanksgiving for his deliver- 
ance. 

“ ‘My soul is among lions,’ he says, ‘and I lie even 
among those who are set on fire; whose teeth are spears 
and arrows, and their tongue a sharp sword.’ So are we, 
my brethren, among our enemies, who go about as roaring 
lions, seeking whom they may devour, and as consuming 
fiames of fire. But under the shadow of God’s wings we 
may find refuge, ‘until these calamities he overpast.’ Then 
let us not he afraid. But let us take courage, my breth- 
ren,” concluded the preacher, “for if we put our trust in 
God all shall he well at last.” 

As Cousin Jane sat and listened, her soul drank in the 
sweet and comforting words of the preacher, until she 
grew both strong in faith and passive toward the will of 
God. She was then able to say : “Let them take away my 
property, burn my house and even slay my soldier hoy, yet 
I will trust in God, who maketh the wrath of man to 
praise him.” 


FOEESTFIELD 


293 


Soon after the services closed there arose a storm-cloud 
in the west, which came up so suddenly and with so much 
energy that the people on their way home had to take 
refuge under the first shelter they could reach; and the 
copious rain that fell so overflowed the streams that many 
of the congregation could not reach home until the next 
day. Such was the situation of our folks, hut it saved 
them from one of the most awful experiences of their lives. 

Late that Sunday afternoon there rode up to Forestfield 
about a dozen Federal cavalrymen, under the command of 
a lieutenant. They dismounted, walked into the veranda 
without invitation and inquired of a negro boy for Mrs. 
Pemrose. Jabez and myself were in the back part of the 
house and did not see the soldiers approach. But when 
we heard of their arrival we went out to meet them, with 
our hearts beating at our throats and our frames trembling 
at every joint. 

^‘We have come,” said the lieutenant, without ceremony, 
as he adjusted his sword-belt, ^To perform a very disagree- 
able duty, my friends; and before beginning we thought 
best to inform the family, that we might not appear to be 
in unseemly haste. I suppose you can guess, gentlemen, 
what the duty is and what makes it necessary?” 

“I suppose I know your business,” I replied, with em- 
phasis, having overcome my first fright. ^‘But did not 
the captain of the detachment last evening succeed in 
persuading the commander of the post not to retaliate 
upon us?” I inquired. 

‘T know nothing of that, sir; I have come only in obe- 
dience to orders,” was the rather curt reply. 

‘‘But have you no discretion in the matter?” I asked. “I 
hope you will allow us to save something from the house.” 

“Of course; you may save what you can in half an hour. 
►We cannot wait longer than that.” 


294 FOKESTFIELD 

you not give us three-quarters of an hour?” I 

pleaded. 

‘‘1 guess so,” was the careless reply. 

Running to the brow of the hill overlooking the quar- 
ters I called with all my might for every negro there to 
come and help us take the furniture out of the house. But 
there was no response; and, fearing that I was not heard, 
I ran back and got the old “rising horn” — that had called 
the slaves to and from their work for so many years — and 
gave two lusty blasts that seemed to wake the echoes far 
away. This was the first time that horn had been blown 
since the emancipation proclamation. The negroes heard 
the horn, and, suspecting what was wanted, came running 
with all their might and were at work in a few minutes. 
Being Sunday, quite a number of the negroes were absent 
from the plantation and we did not secure as much help as 
we anticipated. 

Jabez, Aunt Caroline and I stationed ourselves at differ- 
ent points within the mansion to direct what should best 
be taken out, that there might not be saved too much of 
one thing and not enough of another; and within the time 
allotted us we succeeded in saving enough furniture to 
supply a small residence, provisions sufficient to last us 
some time and some bric-a-brac. 

When the last moment approached, the officer, with 
watch in hand, gave notice that everyone should leave the 
building, and sent a man all through the house to see that 
no one was exposed to the fire. A corporal and a private 
were then sent into the mansion with a can of oil and 
matches with which to saturate the floors and set them 
afire, beginning at the top and coming down; and as the 
smoke began to pour from the upper windows we began to 
remove further away all articles that we feared might be 
exposed to the conflagration. The stock and the fowls — 


FOEESTFIELB 295 

what little we had — were also removed to a safe distance 
for fear the outhouses might catch. 

It was a beautiful afternoon in the month of June, and 
it being the Sabbath there seemed to be a restful quietude 
prevailing unknown to the busy week; and after the re- 
freshing rain the rich foliage of the yard, garden and for- 
est, bedecked with pendant raindrops, shone resplendent 
under the rays of the sinking sun; while along the western 
skies lay the dead clouds of the departed storm in many a 
gorgeous hue. And only a short while before the coming 
of the incendiaries I had been sitting on the upper bal- 
cony contemplating the glorious scene, when I likened 
the gorgeous clouds, in their rich and graceful folds, to ex- 
quisite drapery gathered about the lintels of nature’s splen- 
did tabernacle. But in the midst of my happy reveries 
there intruded the apprehension that the vandals might 
yet come and put the torch to our home, and I thought 
what would that be compared to the dissolving of that 
golden palace in the west — built without hands — when the 
night should come down and envelop all. 

As I looked upon the dear old mansion for the last time 
it seemed that it was receiving a special benediction from 
the heavens preparatory to its passing away. Dear old 
friend, thought I, you have sheltered me for fourteen years 
through prosperity and adversity; around your ancient 
hearthstone have I seen many a tear upon the cheek of 
sorrow and many a smile within the eye of hope; but no 
more shall I rest, by night, beneath thine ample roof nor 
look out of thy broad windows again through the ambient 
light of day. 

In the midst of my reflections, as I stood at a safe dis- 
tance from the doomed mansion, suddenly I saw an angry 
flame lick out its flery tongue through a window as if it 
would say in defiance and derision: ‘‘Aha! aha! I am 


296 


FORESTFIELD 


here to conquer and to destroy!” Then another flame 
would leap from the next window like the beckoning hand 
of a demon as if to encourage its companion in the con- 
flict, saying: ^^Ah! aha! I am here to help you conquer 
and destroy!” And from window after window leaped the 
lurid fires of destruction until every aperture was the exit 
of a devouring spirit of evil. 

In every direction, encircling the conflagration, stood 
the negroes of the plantation, men, women and children, 
with anguish and terror upon their faces as if they were 
watching the dying agonies of their last and best friend. 
And at regular intervals among them stood a Federal sol- 
dier of stern countenance, with loaded gun, ready to chal- 
lenge anyone who would dare to attempt to extinguish the 
cruel flames. Here and there, lifting their black hands 
toward the lurid sky and shouting hysterically, were negro 
women and girls bewailing the awful spectacle; and as 
they stood with the light of the fire beating in their de- 
spairing faces they appeared as spectered fire-worshippers 
about a mighty funeral pyre. 

^^Oh, Laud!” cried Aunt Caroline, throwing her hands 
up and down, ^^he’p Miss Jane to b’ar dis ’fliction! She ain’t 
got no house to live in! She ain’t got nuthin’ to eat outun! 
All her chany dishes done burnt up! De Laud knows I 
tried to bust open de closet do’ ! Oh Laud ! he’p Miss Jane 
to b’ar dis ’fliction!” 

Getting the old auntie’s attention, I said: ‘T am very 
glad. Aunt Caroline, that Cousin Jane is not here to 
see this awful sight, for I don’t think she could bear 
it.” 

sho’ is glad, Marse Morris; fur hit would er kilt her,” 
replied the old woman. ‘Tlut I done been prayin’ to de 
Laud to he’p Miss Jane to b’ar dis ’fliction.” Then, 
changing her mood suddenly, she said : ‘T could jes’ fling 


FOEESTFIELD 297 

dem Yankees in dat fire, hade fo’most! We all ain^ done 
nuthin’ to ^em.” 

‘‘You’d better mind what you say,” I cautioned her, “or 
they might do you harm.” 

“I ain’t feered of ’em!” was the resolute reply. Then 
she resumed her gestures and prayer: “Laud! he’p Miss 
Jane to b’ar dis ’fliction.” 

Suddenly the flames swept upwards as if .they would 
make one mighty effort to bring the structure to the 
ground, when the front gable gave way and carried with it 
the upper halves of the noble columns of the portico, and 
the main roof having now but little support, it fell with a 
tremendous crash into the fiery vortex below. Then, as if 
to hide the awful spectacle from the condoling heavens, 
great volumes of black smoke rose upward as a cyclonic 
cloud and spread a pall of darkness over all, and millions 
of sparks drawn upward by the sudden draught returned 
as a shower of fire. 

At this juncture the Federals, seeing that their awful 
work was well done and that they were no longer needed 
to direct it, mounted their horses and rode away. Down 
through the grove to the lawn gate and into the main road 
I watched them ride away with the awful light of their 
own kindling beating white upon their backs; and for half 
a mile, until the shadowy forest received them out of sight, 
I saw the metal of their munitions of war glittering under 
the far-reaching illumination. Like repentant demons 
silently they moved away without looking back, until the 
darkness enveloped them in its merciful obscurity. 

Gradually the flames subsided and then expired; the 
intense heat grew less; when, by midnight, there was noth- 
ing left of the noble mansion of Forestfield, save the frag- 
ments of blackened walls and heaps of smouldering debris. 

Soon the moon, which had risen high in the heavens, 


298 


FOEESTFIELD 


burst in all its mellowed glory through the breaking 
clouds, and, shining down upon that devoted spot, re- 
vealed the great ancestral trees burnt and scarred, but 
still standing as unconquerable heroes of a fiery conflict 
and of a forlorn hope. And as the solemn spirit of the 
night rested upon all I wandered here and there about the 
premises as one who walketh among the fresh-made 
mounds over his recent dead and refused to be comforted. 
While not far away, sitting upon a white stone which had 
been hurled from its place by the raging fire, was Aunt 
Caroline moaning piteously for the wasting of the heritage 
to which she had been born and which she had served for 
so many years. And from the roof of the kitchen, scorched 
and blackened, came the melancholy complaint of the 
screiech owl, as if to augment the dread sorrow of that 
fateful night. As I turned away to seek shelter, but not to 
sleep, my mind recalled and realized the full significance 
of the words : Ashes — Desolation. 

Four miles away — ^beyond an impassable stream — were 
other eyes strained in our direction and watching the illu- 
minated skies over Forestfield, and other hearts that 
throbbed in unison with ours on account of the dreadful 
catastrophe then overtaking our home. 

When the attention of Cousin Jane and that of the rest 
of our folks was called to the light in the sky, they felt 
at once that it was the burning of Forestfield by the Fed- 
eral; for the premonition that had haunted them from 
the time that Clem Bates was killed at the door had not 
forsaken them, but had ripened into the fruition of ex- 
pectation. But they were urged to be consoled by the 
probability that it was only a weather-light seen in the 
clouds. 

Going upon a more elevated point, the anxious observers 
were enabled to see the tips of the flames and the illumi- 


FORESTFIELD 


299 


nated smoke that rose with them, and even the tops of the 
trees near where they stood reflected the distant light. 

am satisfied,” remarked Cousin J ane, ^flhat our house 
is burning down.” And she was led hack to her room, 
from which she never looked again upon the light in the 
sky. 

Jim was then dispatched upon one of the carriage 
horses and hidden to swim the creek and ascertain if the 
suspicion of Cousin Jane was correct. He reached Forest- 
field just in time to see the mansion fall in ruins to the 
ground. He then returned and conveyed the unhappy 
tidings to his mistress, who received the news with great 
calmness, as one who passes out of dread suspense into ^ 
positive knowledge. But she took much comfort from the 
discourse of the morning and felt that ^^all things work to- 
gether for good to them that love God,” and rejoiced that 
the rainstorm had come and shut her off from beholding 
the awful conflagration of her home. 

Although it was past midnight before everything be- 
came quiet about Forestfield, Jahez and myself conveyed 
sufficient furniture to the overseer’s house, where we made 
ourselves comfortable until morning; though we slept 
but little, for the scenes of the early night would ever and 
anon intrude upon the vision of our minds and startle us 
in our slumbers. 

When Cousin Jane and the rest returned home the next 
day they were driven immediately to the overseer’s house, 
where Aunt Caroline, with the assistance of Jahez and 
myself, had made everything ready for their reception; 
and, although the change was great and apparently humil- 
iating, they all resigned themselves to their lot, being 
thankful that they had any shelter at all. And now the 
religious faith and fortitude which Cousin Jane had long 
taught and exemplified came into play with much force 


300 FOEESTFIELD 

and beauty and proved itself to be a reality rather than a 
mere theory. 

While the four women and the children occupied the 
overseer’s house, Jabez and myself took up our abode in a 
cabin nearby. And here we dwelt for a few years to come, 
and here the sequel of this story reached its consumma- 
tion. 


FORESTEIELD 


301 


CHAPTEE Xin. 

AT THE overseer’s HOUSE. 

L ife in om new residence, though contracted, was 
measurably comfortable. Indeed, the small di- 
mensions of the overseer’s house were more adapt- 
ed to our straitened circumstances than was the man- 
sion. It was a double log-house, with a hall and two shed 
rooms and with a porch in front. There was weather- 
boarding on the outside and plastering on the inside and 
a combined rock and brick chimney at each end; and when 
Jabez had put a coat of whitewash on it, it looked as neat 
as a pin. While we could procure no paint through the 
blockade, we could get plenty of lime from the mountain 
lime-kiln. 

Cousin Jane and Elizabeth and her children occupied 
one front room and Alice and Miss Katharine the other, 
while Jabez and myself stayed in a cabin nearby. The shed- 
rooms were used as a kitchen and dining-room, respective- 
ly; and it was not long before we became adapted to our 
reduced quarters, where we tried to be contented. 

When the autumn rains began to fall and patter upon 
the roof at night it was to us a new but pleasing sound, 
for we had never lived in a house before where we could 
hear the patter of raindrops on the roof. But we could 
not help thinking of our soldier boys, who for many such 
nights, and worse, had no roof at all. So we still had 
something to be thankful for. Jabez used to say that ^^hit 
wuz bardacious, anyhow, fur po’ folks to live in a fine 
house.” 


302 


FOEESTFIELD 


It was several weeks before Cousin Jane could get her 
consent to view the ruins of her elegant mansion. When 
she returned home the day after the burning she refused 
to pass the desolate spot, but was driven to the overseer’s 
house from an opposite direction, with the curtains of the 
carriage drawn. And when she did decide to visit the 
ruins I hoped that I might not be there to see. Although 
the overseer’s house was on the same elevation with the 
mansion, there was a clump of large forest trees which en- 
tirely shut out the view, and not even the vacant space 
left by the burnt building could be detected from the for- 
mer. 

One afternoon a few weeks after the burning Cousin 
Jane said to me: 

“Cousin Morris, I should like to go and see the spot 
where our house used to stand. I know it will be painful, 
but I feel that I should make the sacrifice for the sake of 
the associations of the past. Alice is going with me; will 
you not go also?” 

“I had intended to go down to the mill,” I replied, try- 
ing to excuse myself. “There will be no danger, I think, 
in you two going alone.” 

“But as you were present at the time, I want you to go 
and explain it all to us,” she urged. “You can go to the 
mill when we return.” 

Seeing that I could not well get around it, I decided to 
go with them, and, calling Alice, we proceeded upon our 
painful errand, as I considered it. 

When we approached near enough to the spot to detect 
the vacant space among the trees. Cousin Jane looked up 
from under her sunbonnet and remarked, “How sad!” 
Then, resuming her downward gaze, she walked on. We 
said nothing. 

At last we reached the back-yard gate, which, with the 


FORESTFIELD 


303 


paling fence, was all scorched and blackened, while the 
hinges and latch showed plainly the effects of the intense 
heat. Here Cousin Jane hesitated as if to gather up her 
strength for the ordeal, and, leaning upon the arm of Alice, 
she entered the yard. 

I felt as if I were accompanying a broken-hearted 
mourner to the open grave of her dearest friend. Ho word 
was spoken, for our hearts were too full for utterance. We 
then approached the ruins. 

The shadows of the great trees lay upon the ground and 
the rays of the declining sun fell in dappled pools of light 
upon the withered grass, while the summer breezes shook 
the green foliage overhead; and there lay, I thought, a 
desert within an oasis. 

^‘Take off your bonnet, mother,” suggested Alice, ^^and 
you will be more comfortable under the shade.” She re- 
luctantly removed her bonnet and I discovered the tears 
running freely down her cheeks; and which was the sadder 
spectacle, she or the heap of ruins, I could not tell. 

^Tf the house had been destroyed by accident,” re- 
marked Cousin Jane, as she began to recover her normal 
feelings, ^T could bear it much better. But to have it set 
afire — well, I trust God will forgive them.” 

^Terhaps if it had been burnt by accident, mother, we 
would not have saved as much from the fire as we did,” 
suggested Alice. ^^So it may all be for the best at last.” 

^^Yes, I believe that ‘all things work together for good to 
them that love God,^ ” replied Cousin Jane. “So let us try 
to deserve the promise.” 

“Here’s the marble slab from the parlor mantel,” said 
Alice, as she stopped a few steps ahead of us. “We ought 
to take it home, mother, and put it in your room.” And 
she stooped down and tried to remove the slab from the 
ashes. 


304 


FOEESTFIELD 


^TTes, we shall do that some day/’ I replied, ^Vhen w^e 
get stronger help than you are, Alice.” 

Near the marble slab were the brass andirons from the 
parlor fireplace, all warped and twisted out of shape, and 
lying upon the broken hearth. As we passed around the 
ruins we recognized many fragments of familiar things 
that had been dear to us all. The once evergreen box that 
grew in the front yard was all brown and dead, and just 
where the body of the man fell who brought upon us this 
calamity lay a firebrand from the building, blackened and 
cold. But I made no reference to it. 

As we passed on and came to one of the rear comers of 
the ruins I discovered fragments of chinaware protruding 
from the ashes, and in drawing one of them toward me 
with my cane something white and bright attracted my 
attention; and, upon taking it from the ashes, I found 
that it was a piece of silver which had been melted. Other 
pieces of the same kind were discovered at the same place. 
They were found just below where the china closet stood, 
and which contained the silver plate also. This showed 
that Aunt Caroline was correct when she exclaimed upon 
the night of the burning : ‘‘De Laud knows I tried to bust 
open de chany closet, but I couldn’t.” So we were not 
surprised at the discovery. There lay silver pitchers, 
salvers, tureens, mugs, plates, napkin rings, spoons and 
knives and forks all melted into indefinable masses. And 
when I had exhausted my search I had a quantity of silver 
that could not be carried home without a basket. Alice 
offered to go and bring a basket, and I conveyed my 
precious burden to the overseer’s house and deposited it 
in a safe place. Soon after the close of the war 
Cousin Jane sent the melted silver to a silversmith and 
had it made into a plate containing the following in- 
scription : 


FORESTFIELD 305 

“Forestfield Mansion 
was burned 
by 

The Federals, 

Sunday, June 20, 1864. 

— ^Ashes — Desolation — 

This plate was made of the melted silver found in the ruins.” 

The farming operations of Jabez, Jim and myself proved 
quite successful this year. We made six bales of cotton, 
for which we received forty cents a pound, and enough 
com and wheat to furnish us with bread and the stock 
with provender for the following year. But when we had 
gathered our crop and had sold our cotton for twelve hun- 
dred dollars in gold, our good fortune began to burden us 
with apprehension lest it should be stolen from us. We 
hardly knew what to do with so much money. Of course, 
we needed to spend some of it, but we wished to save some 
of it for harder times, perhaps. So, after supplying our 
immediate wants, we had about eight hundred dollars left 
on our hands. 

In those perilous times there were a set of men roving 
through the country called ^^jayhawkers.” They were 
neither Federals nor Confederates, and cared not which 
side might win, so they gathered in the spoils. They would 
attack the Yankees found in small detachments, provided 
there was little danger and much booty. But if they could 
find no straggling Yankees they would visit citizens, by 
night, and divest them of whatever property they could 
conveniently carry ofi. They had a special hankering 
after gold and greenbacks. 

In view of the above state of things we concluded to 
hide our hard-earned treasure from the hands of the jay- 


306 


FORESTFIELD 


liawkers, but how to do this we scarcely knew. Cousin 
Jane suggested that the money be placed under the hearth- 
stone in her room; I suggested that it be buried in the 
ground at some secluded spot; but Jabez thought if we 
should saw off a section of a bedpost and bore a two-inch 
auger-hole in the center of the lower part, and after de- 
positing the money in the hole, to replace the detached 
section, the money would be absolutely safe. 

So, after a secret discussion between Jabez and myself 
only, we adopted the plan of the latter. Not even Cousin 
Jane was allowed to know anything about our plans, be- 
cause we believed that if the robbers should come and de- 
mand the money she would be too conscientious to deny 
that she knew where it was. Accordingly, we made ar- 
rangements to dispense with all the women and children 
for one night while Jabez and myself would proceed to 
hide the money. The women and children were sent over 
to Mr. John Holcombe’s one afternoon, where they re- 
mained until the next afternoon. 

About one o’clock that night Jabez and myself closed 
and locked all the doors, shut all the blinds and drew all 
the curtains of the overseer’s house, and without a glim- 
mer of light we began our secret work. As the coins were 
numerous and large, we concluded to divide them about 
equally between four bedposts; and, moreover, if the jay- 
hawkers should happen to discover one of the hiding- 
places, three-fourths of the money would still be safe. We 
chose Cousin Jane’s own bedstead, because the posts were 
very large, and also because we hoped that the intruders 
would hardly invade a lady’s room in search of treasure. 

The bedposts selected were about six inches square as 
high up as two feet above the rails, where a series of 
turned bulges began and continued to the top. Our plan 
was to separate the two sections as accurately as possible, 


FORESTFIELD 


307 


bore the auger-hole into the lower section, then put the 
money in and join the sections nicely again by gluing 
them together. Our plan was so well matured and under- 
stood beforehand that it was unnecessary for us to speak 
a word during the operation. All the noise necessary to be 
made was the cutting of the saw for a few minutes and the 
grinding of the auger. 

When everything was ready the money, which consisted 
mostly of twenty-dollar gold pieces, was sewn up in four 
pieces of oil-cloth and placed within the auger-holes. We 
then melted a sufficient amount of glue, which we hap- 
pened to have on hand, and poured it upon the top of the 
oil-cloth until it ran over and spread out upon the top of 
the lower section of the bedpost, then replaced the top 
section and held it in place until the glue dried sufficiently 
to hold it. We then retired and went to sleep. The next 
afternoon, when the women and children returned, every- 
thing resumed its usual course, as if no money had been 
hidden in the house. 

A few weeks after the secreting of the money in the 
bedposts, and we had ceased to think seriously about the 
matter, we were all sitting one night around the fire in 
Cousin Jane’s room enjoying the comforts of the first cool 
days of the autumn and discussing the probable early close 
of the war, when there was heard upon the front hall door 
a heavy knocking; and, thinking that it was some neigh- 
bor coming to visit us (for it was not late), I arose to 
answer it; but when I opened the door I found myself 
confronted by four men heavily armed and each wearing a 
disguise over his face. Of course, my first thought was 
that the jayhawkers had come at last. Without waiting 
for an invitation (which I would have given) the four 
men walked boldly into the house and gave me to under- 
stand that they had come for spoils; and as the leader en- 


308 


FOEESTFIELD 


tered Cousin Jane’s room, followed by myself, he re- 
marked in a falsetto voice of disguise : 

“You needn’t to be alarmed, ladies, we ain’t going to 
hurt anybody ef you tell us where the money is you got 
for that cotton.” 

“You’ll not git any money here,” replied Jabez, in his 
candid and fearless way, as he rose to his feet. “You’ve 
come to the goat’s house fur wool.” 

“You be quiet, old man, we know whut we’re about,” 
replied the jawhawker, as he placed his hand on his pistol 
as if to intimidate Jabez; and, for fear that the latter 
would say something to aggravate the robber. Cousin Jane 
touched him on the arm as a signal to be cautious. But 
there was no intimidation in Jabez Johnson, for he hardly 
knew what fear was, and as he suspected to whom he was 
speaking, it made him still bolder. 

At this juncture the other three men entered the room, 
when the leader demanded that I tell him where the money 
was, which placed me in a very critical and embarrassing 
position, and how to answer him I scarcely knew. But I 
soon rallied and replied : “If you think there is money in 
the house, sir, you are welcome to search for it. You 
couldn’t expect anybody to have money these hard times.” 

“Oh, yes, when a man sells ten bales of cotton at forty 
cents a pound he’s bound to have money,” rejoined the 
robber. “You can’t fool me.” 

“We hain’t sold no ten bales of cotton at forty cents,” 
protested Jabez, to my great relief; “and whoever told you 
so told a lie!” And his old eyes flashed the fires of indig- 
nation, to the surprise of the robbers. 

“Never mind that,” rejoined the jay hawker, “we’ve 
come fur money and we’re going to have it.” And he 
seized one of the bedposts and shook it vigorously. Then 
did my heart sink within me. 


FORESTFIELD 


309 


‘^Wal, all Fve got to say, git hit ef you kin/’ responded 
J abez, as he stalked about the room with his hands in his 
pockets; and, although he was an old man, Jahez was still 
stout and fearless, and did not intend to yield an inch to 
the jayhawker. 

'‘Git at your searchin’, hoys,” said the leader, “fur we 
ain’t got much time to lose. I’ll ’tend to these men, and 
won’t let ’em interfere.” And he laughed as if he thought 
the idea ridiculous. 

As the three men began to search. Cousin Jane said: 
“Go with them, Cousin Morris, and show them that we do 
not object to their searching the house if they wish to do 
so.” This was Cousin Jane’s usual spirit of reconciliation 
manifesting itself. 

Accepting the suggestion, I followed the three men 
about the house while they examined bureaus, trunks, 
wardrobes and boxes and looked under beds; and then 
going into the kitchen and dining-room, they made a 
similar search, hut of course found no money. We had 
no silverware, for it had been melted in the great fire and 
the remains buried where they could not find it. 

In the meantime the leader was still standing in Cousin 
Jane’s room, with his hand upon one of the bedposts that 
contained the money, talking to Jahez, who was making 
him some very plain remarks; and as the former suspected 
that the latter knew who he was, he could not afford to 
resent what was said to him. He evidently knew Jahez’ 
disposition, and he was constantly uneasy lest he might 
lift his mask and reveal his identity; and, as had as he was, 
he did not care to be exposed there. 

“Ain’t you all efeerd to stroll about the country when 
there’s a company of Yankees campin’ at the ford of the 
creek?” asked Jahez. “Ef you don’t mind they’ll take you 


310 


FOEESTFIELD 


do you know there’s a company of Yankees camp- 
ing at the creek?” asked the jayhawker in reply, with visi- 
ble excitement. 

^‘Becase I seed ’em go by this evening,” replied Jabez. 

While this statement was not true, Jabez thought him- 
self justifiable in making a false impression in order to 
get rid of the jayhawkers, for they were very unwilling to 
meet a soldier of any kind. 

‘‘Ain’t you lyin’, old man,” challenged the robber, as he 
looked at Jabez fiercely through his mask. 

And as Jabez was not accustomed to being accused of 
lying, his indignation began to rise and he was about to 
resent the insult, when he thought of the circumstances 
and desisted. Still he could not refrain from saying: 
“You must judge other folks by yourself, my friend.” 

When I returned to Cousin Jane’s room with the three 
men the leader asked: “Find anything, boys?” 

“Noth’n’,” was the disappointed reply. 

“Well, this old man says there’s a company of Yankees 
camped at the ford,” remarked the leader. “What do you 
think of that, boys?” 

“I think we’d better go and capture ’em,” replied one of 
the men, with a snicker. “We can’t find noth’n’ here.” 

“Yes, I think we’d better go and come again when 
there’s more money in sight,” agreed the leader. 

But as the jayhawkers started out one of them said: 

“I b’lieve I’ll take something to be remembered by.” 
And he reached out and seized one of the nice white pil- 
lows from Cousin Jane’s bed and thrust it under his arm, 
and remarked: “Who knows but what this is got the 
money in it?” 

“I b’lieve I’ll take one, too,” said another jayhawker. 
And he seized the other pillow. 

As we were glad to get rid of our disagreeable visitors 


FORESTFIELD 


311 


as soon as possible, no one protested to the taking of the 
pillows. So they soon passed out of the house, mounted 
their horses and rode off in a gallop; and as I stood on the 
porch watching their departure with joy until they disap- 
peared .in the distance, I could still see the two white pil- 
lows going down the road like two ghosts running a foot 
race. 


312 


FOKESTFIELD 


CHAPTEE XIV. 


THE DAWN OF PEACE. 



LTHOUGH the year 1865 opened with many dis- 


couragements to the Confederate cause, which, 


^ of course, we much regretted, yet the early and 
inevitable end of the war, which we saw approaching, was 
greeted hy us with a feeling of great relief. Our soldiers 
had now been in the field nearly four years, without a visit 
home, and all of us at Forestfield were extremely anxious 
to see them again. Besides, we had received very few 
letters from them during the whole time on account of 
our being within the enemy’s lines. 

While I was as ready as anyone to welcome the coming 
of peace, yet I felt as if a dark and stormy night was about 
to yield to the light of garish day that would hut reveal 
the disasters which had been wrought and bring out the 
wrecks of life and property and character in more awful 
distinctness. 

As the greater part of Southern territory had been occu- 
pied for some time by the Federal forces, tidings from our 
soldiers were a rarity, and we were much gratified to re- 
ceive, about the first of April, a lengthy epistle from Cap- 
tain Holcombe, addressed to Elizabeth, through the kind- 
ness of one of our neighbor boys who had returned home 
under a discharge on account of a serious wound. Yet the 
sad news of the fate of Edward which the letter contained 
counteracted much of the pleasure which its receipt af- 
forded. The following extracts from the captain’s letter 


FOEESTFIELD 313 

will give the reader a glimpse of the true condition of our 
cause at the time, and especially in Virginia : 

‘Tetersburg^ Va., March 37, ’65. 

Dear Elizabeth: 

send you this letter by the kindness of Mr. James 
Flynt, who is about to return home upon his discharge, 
having become permanently disabled by a severe wound; 
and as he will have to pass into the Federal lines to reach 
home, I shall not write anything detrimental to the Union 
cause. 

“I am very glad to avail myself of this opportunity to 
write to you, as it has been so long since you heard from 
us. I trust you all are well, and that I shall have the pleas- 
ure of seeing you again soon. Of course, you are aware of 
the hopelessness of our cause, and would not be surprised 
to hear of the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia 
at any time, in the event of which I shall lose no time, if 
permitted, in making my way home. Still, I am ready to 
fight to the last man, if General Lee should ask it. 

regret very much to have to say that our dear Edward 
is not with me to send a message to you all in my letter. 
We took part in the night attack upon Fort Steadman on 
the 35th instant, made by the gallant General Gordon and 
his men, and Edward was unfortunately captured by the 
enemy. But as the surrender of General Lee seems to be 
a mere matter of time, I trust he will yet turn up all right. 

‘^As that night assault upon the enemy’s works was such 
a bold and brave adventure, I shall give you a short ac- 
count of it, though I am sorry to say that it was unsuccess- 
ful and more disastrous to us than to the enemy. 

“The portion of the enemy’s line selected for the point 
of attack lay opposite General Gordon’s front and within 
about two hundred yards of it, the opposing works being 


314 


FOEESTFIELD 


very close together; and General Gordon was assigned to 
the command of the attacking column, whose movement 
was directed against Fort Steadman, a strong earth-work 
near the south bank of the Appomattox river. 

“The column of attack was drawn up before dawn, and 
consisted of some three thousand or four thousand men, 
while a considerable force was held in reserve to follow up 
the attack if successful. 

“In the early dawn our column moved noiselessly out 
into the intervening space and passed swiftly forward, un- 
noticed by the Federals, whose guards showed little vigi- 
lance. A few minutes sufficed to reach the enemy’s works, 
and the surprised garrison of Fort Steadman arose to find 
their stronghold in the possession of their foes. 

“All this had been the work of a very few minutes, at 
the end of which time all the garrison who were not pris- 
oners were fiying in a panic from the fort. The guns of 
the enemy were at once turned on the neighboring works, 
and several batteries to the right and left were cleared of 
their defenders and occupied by the Confederates. 

“Now was the time for the supporting column to ad- 
vance; and had it done so the advantage could have been 
sustained, and by the seizure of the hill in the rear of Fort 
Steadman the Federal army would have been cut in two 
at the center. But for some reason, which has never been 
given, the advance was not made. 

“General Gordon with his small force was left to bear 
the brunt of the Federal assault, which quickly fell upon 
him. Fort Haskel, to the left of Fort Steadman, opened 
upon the latter a terrific fire, under cover of which a heavy 
column of infantry advanced, and something like the 
scene which followed the mine explosion on our lines last 
summer ensued. A considerable portion of the assaulting 
column was unable to withdraw and remained prisoners in 


FORESTFIELD 


315 


the hands of the enemy, while many lay dead or wounded 
about the recaptured works. 

^‘Edward, who as second lieutenant was at the opposite 
end of my company from myself leading it in the assault, 
advanced with a part of the company most too far, and 
when the command was given to retire to our own works 
he and ten men were left in the hands of the enemy. Be- 
sides these, there were a number of my company killed and 
wounded. 

‘^The failure and disaster of this assault, it is thought, 
will require an early retreat of our army from Petersburg, 
but whether it will move toward Richmond or westward 
into the interior of the state, I do not know. * * * 

^^There may be more fighting done yet before it is all 
over, and if I should fall before that time rest assured, my 
dear wife, that I shall fall doing my duty. While an early 
surrender would no doubt save many valuable lives on 
both sides, yet it is painful to even think of the surrender 
of Lee’s heroic little band. * * * 

^Traying that we may yet meet again, even in defeat, 
I am 

^^Your devoted husband, 

^^WiLLiAM Holcombe.” 

The night after the above letter was received from Cap- 
tain Holcombe, Mr. Wise came over to Forestfield (or 
rather to the overseer’s house) and sat with us until bed- 
time. He was as talkative as ever, and the chief subject 
discussed that night was the probable advantages and dis- 
advantages that might accrue to the South upon the ar- 
rival of peace, which was evidently near at hand. 

Mr. Wise thought that, although the South had lost 
both slavery and states’ rights, she would be more than 
compensated by the new era of prosperity which he be- 


316 


FORESTFIELD 


lieved would soon dawn upon her destiny; but as I begged 
leave to differ from him, we soon became engaged in a 
controversy. 

^‘The South may feel rather humiliated at her defeat,” 
said he; ‘T)ut when she begins to realize that she has 
gained more than she has lost, she will become reconciled 
to her fate.” 

^^Humiliated!” I protested, with spirit. ‘^There’s noth- 
ing to humiliate her. Considering the odds she had to 
contend against, I think she has put up the most heroic 
fight known in the history of the world. Don’t you know, 
Mr. Wise, that the South had to fight Europe as well as 
the United States?” 

^^Oh, yes,” he replied, ^^there were no doubt many sol- 
diers in the Federal army from Europe, but they did not 
have the patriotism to stimulate them that the native 
Americans had.” 

‘^But do you not know,” I rejoined, ^^that according to 
the census of 1860 there were only six millions of white 
people within the seceding states, while the rest of the 
Union contained more than twenty millions? And there 
is no doubt that the Federals have had, from first to last, 
at least two millions and a half of soldiers in the service; 
while the Confederates have had little more than eight 
hundred thousand. There could hardly be cause for hu- 
miliation,” I continued, ^%here one man has contended so 
heroically against three for four years, unless the humilia- 
tion should come upon the three men.” 

^^Nevertheless,” concluded Mr. Wise, ‘The South will be 
benefited by the war, provided she doesn’t allow her hot- 
headed fanaticism to obstruct it. The Southern people,” 
he went on, “are no doubt a proud and noble people, but 
if their defeat had not come their pride, I fear, would 
have been their ruin.” 


FORESTFIELD 


317 

^^ever!” I retorted. ^^They will never yield one iota of 
their pride and chivalry, though they should be placed in 
chains and reduced to slavery. The chivalry of the South 
was not horn to die!” 

'^That may he true,” admitted the old Englishman, ‘‘but 
I tell you there is no hope for the South, unless she ad- 
justs herself to the era of development that shall surely 
follow this war. Fnder the institution of slavery her rich 
resources must have remained dormant forever. She must 
have the energy and the ingenuity of the Yankee to stimu- 
late her enterprise, if she ever comes to her deserved 
place.” 

“I beg leave to differ from you, Mr. Wise,” I insisted, 
changing the line of argument; “this war has brought upon 
the whole country more evil consequences and influences 
than it will ever be able to counteract. The standard of 
morality has been lowered to a degree that had never been 
reached before, and it will require years of training to 
bring it back to its former level, if indeed it shall ever 
reach it again.” 

“Oh, you are mistaken, Mr. McClure; the Confederate 
soldiers will all return home soon and set to work to re- 
cover their fortunes, and all the bitterness of the war will 
be forgotten in a reunited and prosperous country.” 

“Well, you may be right,” I yielded, “but I think that 
time will prove otherwise.” 

When Mr. Wise had returned home and we had retired 
I could not but lie awake and think of the night, in 1861, 
when we had a similar spirited discussion upon the cause 
of the war. Now, after four years, we were discussing its 
consequences. And I fell asleep with the conviction upon 
my mind that even if abolition of slavery and the restora- 
tion of the Union should stimulate greater enterprise and 
development in the South, it would never redeem the 


318 


FOEESTFIELD 


country from that state of moral corruption into which 
the war had plunged it. And I feared that the noble 
chivalry peculiar to the South for so many generations 
had suffered a loss that would never be repaired; and that 
commercialism and greed, so paralyzing to the more re- 
fined sentiments of the heart, would so inundate our land 
as to drown every noble ambition that might rise in the 
minds of our Southern youth. And when I thought of 
these things I found myself weeping for the miseries that 
should come upon our beloved Southland. 

My feelings having subsided to some extent, I soon fell 
asleep, when there came to me the startling vision re- 
corded in the ensuing chapter. 


/ 


FOKESTFIELD 


319 


CHAPTEE XV. 

A DREAM OF THE FUTURE. 

I THOUGHT in my dream that I stood upon a moun- 
tain looking southward, and that it was night. Be- 
low was a vast valley over which rolled billows of 
leaden clouds, as it were the smoke of battle, and the 
clouds were in furious commotion, as if stirred by a mighty 
wind; and across the billows of clouds flashed, as it were, 
holts of lightning, and from beneath them arose flames of 
fire as from burning cities. 

And I thought in my dream that I heard from the 
depths of the valley tumultuous and thunderous noises 
that came rolling up the mountain-side and shook it to its 
foundations; and I perceived that it was the thunder of 
battle. And as I listened I noticed that the noises became 
less and less frequent, and that they waxed fainter and 
fainter until they died away into silence; and I looked and 
saw that the flashes of fire were less numerous, and that 
the flames of the burning cities sank down, one by one, 
and vanished into darkness. 

Then I beheld in my dream, glimmering ialong the 
verge of the eastern horizon, from the north unto the 
south, a faint glow of light, as it were the rising of the 
first smile of an infant. And I saw that the first glow was 
soon merged into another glow which grew brighter and 
brighter and rose higher and higher until a glorious au- 
rora, as it were, sat like a crown upon the brow of the 
morning. 


320 


FORESTFIELD 


And I looked again, and behold, myriads of golden 
shafts of light shot upward into the heavens and down- 
ward upon the earth, and pierced the leaden clouds and 
shattered them into a thousand golden fragments. And I 
saw written along the eastern skies, as it were<in letters of 
living light, the word: Peace! 

And I saw in my dream, as it 'were, a great bird with 
wings of darkness, and talons of steel, and with eyes of 
fire, rise out of the midst of the golden clouds with a 
scream, and as it rose it dashed from its pinions, as it 
were, drops of blood and of tears that sparkled as dew- 
drops in the morning radiance. And the scream of the 
bird was as the voice of one who cried : “I am the Eagle 
of War, and I take my fiight beyond the western moun- 
tains forever!’^ 

And as the eagle passed out of sight, behold, I saw the 
form of a dove sweep down from the heavens with an 
olive-branch in her mouth and hover over the valley. And 
I heard the voice of the dove, which cried: ‘Teace! 
Peace I Peace 1” And I looked and saw the sun burst 
in great glory over the mountains, and the fragments 
of clouds, like wax in the fire, melted away at his pres- 
ence. 

And I thought in my dream that desolation lay along 
the valley like unto the wake of a cyclone of fire, and that 
the pestilence that walketh in darkness and the destruc- 
tion that wasteth at noonday hid, as it were, their faces 
from it. 

And I looked and saw, as it were, an hundred cities that 
lay as heaps of rubbish by the wayside, and their charred 
and broken walls were as the eyeless skulls which lay un- 
buried upon the neglected field of carnage. And about 
the cities I beheld vast fields untilled and desolate, where 
the weed and the nettle and the bramble grew in the lux- 


FOEESTFIELD 


321 


tiriance of the wilderness. And I saw that the hillsides 
were cut and scarred and ridged with thousands of the 
graves of the dead, and there rested upon the forests, as it 
were, funereal veils of sadness. And I heard a voice lifted 
up, as it were from the sepulcher, which cried: ^‘Alas! 
alas! for the dearth and the desolation!’^ 

And I turned me about and looked northward, and be- 
hold a great horde, with the visage of many nations, 
rushed forward as swine to the swill-tub, and crying : ^‘On 
to the land of the conquered! on to the spoils and the pil- 
lage!” And I saw that they bore in their hands the scales 
of injustice false- weighted with the slugs of fraud and of 
misrule. And I turned me about and looked southward 
and beheld in the valley a host of dark faces, set with the 
eagerness of laughter and. crying: “Come! Come! Come 
to our salvation!” And I saw men and women, of a proud 
and noble lineage, crouched in the dust, as on came the 
horde of their oppressors, and they cried: “Alas! for the 
liberty of our fathers! We are undone! We are undone!” 
And I looked, and behold, the sun had ^one down, and 
the darkness had settled upon the valley. 

*Then there came out of the night, as it' were, the 
trilling blast of a trumpet that caused the mountains to 
shiver and the wilderness to moan as a spirit lost from its 
fellows. And I heard many sepulchral voices mingled 
with the neighing of horses, and they cried out: “Aha! 
aha! the sword of justice and of vengeance!” And I saw, 
under the light of the moon, ten thousand glittering 
spears piercing the night and its shadows; and ten thou- 
sand arms of courage lifted aloft to support them; and ten 
thousand forms clothed with white helmets, and visors, 
and shrouds. And there was no sound to their tramping. 


♦Kuklux Klan. 


322 


FORESTFIELD 


but as spirits that tread upon vapor was their coining and 
going, and they hid in secret their faces. And I saw that 
the valley was awe-struck, and no man moved from his 
doorway, for fear, while the night was upon it. And I 
heard again the trilling blast of a trumpet that caused the 
mountains to shiver and the wilderness to moan as a spirit, 
and ten thousand horses and riders, clothed in white robes, 
marched away in the darkness. 

And I thought in my dream that I saw the hills, in the 
midst of the valley, cleft asunder, as by an earthquake, 
and great masses of black and of brown and of white 
poured forth in abundance. And there arose in the midst 
of the hills lofty chimneys which poured forth billows of 
sulphurous smoke, as that from a heated furnace, and they 
hid the ‘face of the sun with their blackness. And .there 
appeared from one side of the valley to the other, as it 
were, great belts of steel, running in all directions, and 
along which passed burdens upon wheels in rapid succes- 
sion. And hard by the tall chimneys there arose great 
cities, anew, as from their own ashes, and the streets 
thereof were crowded with people, who shouted one totan- 
other: “Prosperity! prosperity! prosperity!” And when 
I looked again I beheld, as it were a great conflict within 
the streets of the cities, and they that labored with their 
hands and they that planned with their brains strove one 
against another for the mastery. And I heard the cries of 
women and of children for bread, in the midst of plenty. 
And I heard a voice exclaim in response to the former 
voice: “Adversity! adversity! adversity!” 

And I thought in my. dream that a great wind swept 
over the valley and scattered before it, as it were, ten thou- 
sand times ten thousand white scrolls — ^written within and 
without — and they were as the leaves of the trees driven 
before the blasts of autumn. And I saw a winged messen- 


FOEESTPIELD 323 

get fly before the wind and crying: Wisdom! wisdom! 
wisdom!” And I looked again, and behold the white 
scrolls had blackened and parched, as by a flame of fire, 
and they fell to the earth, as it were, the ashes of desola- 
tion. And I heard a voice from heaven crying: ^‘Polly! 
folly! folly! Alas! for the honor and integrity and the 
righteousness of the former days!” 

And I saw upon the faces of men, as they looked up 
from the valley, the lines of cark and of care, as if chis- 
eled by a sculptor, and they cried out: “Our souls have 
been bartered for money!” And among them were the 
faces of women, whose beauty had faded as a flower, and 
whose modesty had corroded as doth a canker, and I heard 
them cry : “ 0 thou spirit of innocence ! Come back ! Come 
back! and dwell again in our bosoms!” And I saw, as it 
were, beyond the corrupting scenes of war, other faces of 
women, whose eyes were as innocent as the stars of heaven, 
and whose smiles were as pure as the moonlight upon the 
clouds. And above their heads was a rainbow of exquisite 
colors, and there were written upon it the words: “Is 
there hope for the innocent ?” 

And I thought in my dream that there appeared all over 
the valley thousands of once delicate women, with hard- 
ened faces, standing in the places of men, and their garbs 
were like unto those of their brothers, and the hearth- 
stones of their homes looked desolate for the want of their 
presence. And I saw thousands of men forlorn, wander- 
ing aimlessly about in their indolence, seeking work but 
finding none, and upon their faces was a sneer for their 
effeminate supplanters. 

And when I looked again I beheld, coming out of the 
valley, two beautiful angels, and upon their faces was the 
appearance of sadness. And I heard them crying in la- 
mentations : “We are the chivalry of man and the refine- 


324 


FOKESTFIELD 


ment of woman— bartered for gold and for pleasure— and 
banished our garden of Eden/^ 

And I looked and beheld tall spires glittering in the sun- 
light, and pointing toward heaven; and, rising from the 
naves and choirs thereof, came thunderous tones, as it 
were, of sensual music, and the voice of worship was dumb 
in the hearts of the people. And I heard a voice from 
heaven saying: ^‘Behold, they have turned mine altars 
into the hands of the changers of money, and profit and 
gain have usurped the place of the gospel.” 

And I thought in my dream that I saw thousands of 
dark-visaged men crowding, as it were, toward the moun- 
tain, and each had written upon his forehead, in letters of 
white, the word, ‘^Citizen”; and each held, as it were, a 
ballot in his hand. And I heard them cry, as in the 
voice of one man: “Equality! equality! equality!” 

And I looked again, and behold, thousands of white- 
visaged men went out from the mountain to meet, as it 
were, their brothers in black; and I saw that they held in 
their hands the mysteries of fraud and deception, and I 
heard them cry in response to the former: “What God 
hath put asunder let no man join together!” And I heard 
the answer come back from the hosts of the dark-visaged 
men, as it were, in the accents of anguish: “Alas! alas! 
alas! for the hopes of our freedom!” 

And I thought in my dream that there arose over the 
valley, as mushrooms grow in the morning, thousands of 
structures, and into the doors thereof there pressed thou- 
sands of dark-faced children and youths, and each had a 
book in his hand; and I saw that over each structure waved 
a banner with the golden inscription : “Education for the 
children of the Ereedmen!” And I looked again, and be- 
hold, the thousands who had pressed into the doors came 
pouring out, and there was much hope in their eyes and 


FORESTFIELD 


325 


gladness upon their faces, and I heard them cry, as they 
lifted np their hands : “Eiches, and honor, and glory for 
the children of the Bondsmen!” Then I heard a voice:, as 
it were, from the white-visaged men toward the mountain, 
which replied : ^‘Eiches, and honor, and glory he the her- 
itage of our children, alone, forever!” 

And I thought in my dream that I looked far away 
toward the tropics and beheld a land of verdure and of 
beauty and of sunlight; and upon which there rested, as 
it were, perpetual summer, and upon it there was no bur- 
den of labor and no dearth of famine. And I saw coming 
from thence, as it were, hundreds of white-sailed ships 
urged by the western breezes, and they were headed for 
the shores of the valley. And as I looked again, thousands 
of dark-faced people crowded along the shores of the val- 
ley, and thousands of darkened hands beckoned to the 
ships to hasten. And I heard, as it were, a great shout, 
like unto the voice of many waters, saying : “Away to the 
land of the sun, of the corn, of the wine, and of freedom !” 

And I looked and beheld, floating at the masthead of the 
foremost vessel, as it were, a pure white banner bearing the 
golden inscription: “MDCCCCXIII — Behold the Jubilee 
of Our Freedom !” 

And as the white-sailed ships put out to sea with their 
dark human cargoes I heard the multitudes singing upon 
the decks, as it were in the voice of the ocean, a farewell 
song of deliverance: 

Farewell to the Southland, to its cotton and corn ! 

Farewell to the cabins in which we were born ! 

To the fields where we labored, to the hills where we said 
The last word of sorrow at the graves of our dead ! 

Black brothers, sing aloud! and let the world know 
That back to the land of our fathers we go! 

Farewell to you all ! 

Farewell ! 


POEESTFIELD 


You have ruled us as masters — weVe served you as slaves — 
Till your hills have been scarred by the wounds of our graves ; 
But with patience and hope we’ve bowed ’neath the rod, 
Awaiting our freedom by the fiat of God ! 

Black brothers — etc. 

We have hewn down your forests — we’ve guided your plows ; 
We’ve gathered your harvests by the sweat of our brows ; 

And where thy blue sky in its azure expands, 

We’ve left many a landmark — the work of our hands! 

Black brothers — etc. 

We’ve played with your children in the shade of your tree 
’Mid the songs of your birds and the hum of your bees ; 

And when the bright sun had withdrawn his last beams, 
We’ve woven of legends in the warp of their dreams ! 

Black brothers — etc. 

Though we love thee, fair Southland, far better than all, 

We must bid thee adieu and respond to the call 
Of the land of our fathers, to bear the true light 
To those who still sit in the shadows of night ! 

Black brothers — etc. 

White brothers, farewell! May the God of all grace 
In the strength of His love hold the fate of each race; 

And in that good time — which Himself shall reveal — 

May we greet one another in the land of the leal ! 

Black brothers — etc. 

When I had appeared at the breakfast table the next 
morning and had related my dream to the family, Cousin 
Jane remarked: 

trust that those visions of yours, Cousin Morris, are 
but the vagaries of your imagination, prompted by the fear 
of what might possibly come to pass. Let us look upon 
the bright side of things,” she went on, ^^and hope for the 
best.” 

^^Your opinion in regard to visions has undergone quite 


FOEESTFIELD 


321 ' 


a change within four years. Cousin Jane,” I replied; ^^for 
you expressed great faith in my first dream concerning 
the fall of the Castle of Bondage, which came to pass. Now 
you doubt the reliability of this one. Your interpretation 
must he influenced by your fears, as you have accused me. 
You may not live to see the fulfillment of this vision,” I 
went on, ‘diut many of this generation will. I do not see 
the wisdom in crying Peace! Peace! when there is no 
peace.” 

‘‘Well, I hope you will prove to he a false prophet this 
time, Cousin Morris,” said Alice, laughing. 

“He hain’t fur wrong,” concluded Jahez Johnson. And 
we dropped the subject for the time. 


328 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

OUR soldiers’ return. 

S ATUEDAY afternoon, May the 15th, 1865, brought 
to Forestfield a happy yet sorrowful occasion. Cap- 
tain William Holcombe and Lieutenant Jesse Hol- 
combe arrived from the war, after four years of hardships 
and fighting, but their comrade and friend, Edward Pern- 
rose, returned not. But the absence of the latter was not 
surprising to the household, for they had already learned 
of his probable fate. 

The last letter from Captain Holcombe, as well as the 
verbal report given by James Flynt, who brought the let- 
ter, had fixed the belief that the missing soldier had been 
captured by the enemy during the assault upon Fort 
Steadman, and we could only wait in hope of his later 
but safe arrival. So, after dismissing the subject from our 
minds as best we could, we prepared to enjoy the presence 
of those who should arrive. Though Cousin Jane, who 
had strong powers of intuition and forecast (though not 
infallible), never ceased to feel the apprehensive prob- 
ability that her soldier boy would never return to her 
again, yet she strove to be resigned to what she believed 
to be God’s will under her favorite promise that ‘^all things 
work together for good to them that love God.” 

We called the Holcombe brothers “our soldiers” because 
they were closely connected with our household in many 
ways. There was no family in the neighborhood more 


FOEESTFIELD 


329 


congenial to the household of Forestfield than the Hol- 
combes, and to claim their soldier hoys as ours was fully 
appreciated by them. 

The arrival of the brothers took us by surprise; for 
while we expected them soon, we did not know what day 
they would arrive, and therefore did not send the carriage 
to the depot to meet them. But Captain Euffin was in 
town that day with his carriage, and was glad of the oppor- 
tunity to bring the soldiers out. 

Early that morning Cousin Jane’s intuition, supported 
by strong hope, began to forecast the coming of the sol- 
diers; and to make her expectation the more reliable, the 
red rooster stood right at the front door and crowed 
lustily for some time. We all know how the crowing of 
roosters and the cackling of hens in the springtime throws 
a peculiar cast over our feelings and leads our minds into 
regions of dreamy reveries. So those familiar sounds af- 
fected the spirits of Cousin Jane that day. Would it be 
hasty news from Edward, she wondered, or merely the 
arrival of the Holcombe brothers? No matter, she would 
take up her usual employment and await the fulfillment 
or failure of her expectations. 

Dinner having been disposed of. Cousin Jane proposed 
to Alice, Wenona and myself that we go down to the gar- 
den and plant some seeds. Miss Katharine Le Gare had 
left us some time before, and had gone to her people in 
southern Alabama, and Wenona, who had discovered that 
Mrs. Pemrose was her aunt, had come to live with us. It 
was a lovely day in May, when one is glad to get out into 
the sunshine and breathe the refreshing air, and to inhale 
the wholesome odor of the fallowed earth, and when the 
spirit drops the veil of ennui and looks with renewed and 
gladsome hope toward a happier life. 

In order to reach the garden we had to pass through 


330 


FOKESTFIELD 


the yard and very near the ruins of the mansion, around 
which had grown the rank weeds and tangle grasses until 
the heaps of ashes and debris were almost hidden from 
view, though portions of the walls still stood intact. Ap- 
proaching the desolate spot, all the sad memories of the 
great catastrophe came back vividly to our minds, and 
with them the dread of their renewal when our soldiers 
should view them for the first time as the work of a vandal 
foe. 

As the afternoon wore away and we were busy at our 
work, and our expectations seemed as if they would cul- 
minate that day, Alice remarked: 

‘‘Mother, I think we had better go to the house and pre- 
pare for the coming of Brother William, for I should not 
like to meet him in my working costume.” 

“Do you think he will come this evening, Alice?” asked 
Cousin Jane. 

“Yes’m,” replied Alice; “and I would not be astonished 
if he should surprise us at work in the garden. What 
would he think, mother, if he should see us dressed in 
home-spun and working with a hoe?” 

“I suppose he would think that we were doing the best 
we could,” was the characteristic answer. 

“Yes; but it would be something new to him, anyway.” 

“Never be ashamed to be found doing your duty, my 
daughter,” responded Cousin Jane. 

“I believe I will go down to the lawn gate. Aunt J ane,” 
volunteered Wenona, “and look down the road for them.” 
And away went the Indian maid skipping down the hill, 
and upon her return she reported that she had seen a car- 
riage approaching at some distance from the direction of 
Hunterstown. 

“I suppose that is Captain Euffin’s carriage,” I conjec- 
tured, “as I saw it pass here this morning.” 


FORESTFIELD 


331 


^^Well, Brother William may be in the carriage with 
him,” suggested Alice; ‘"and I'm going to the house and 
fix up to meet him. Are you not going, Wenona?” 

“Yes,” replied the latter, eagerly. And the two girls 
abandoned their work and returned to the house. 

“You girls are just seeking an excuse to quit work,” 
playfully remarked Cousin Jane, as they passed through 
the garden gate. 

As we wished to finish planting the seeds that afternoon. 
Cousin Jane and I continued our work, but could not re- 
frain from casting now and then an anxious glance toward 
the lawn gate. Soon, upon reaching the end of a row, we 
straightened up and saw a carriage enter the gate and ap- 
proach the house; or, rather, the spot where the mansion 
had stood. For in reaching the overseer's house, from 
that way, it was necessary to pass the ruins and along the 
garden fence. 

We soon discovered that the carriage was that of Cap- 
tain Kuffin’s, and that there were two other men within 
it, dressed in Confederate uniforms. And while we be- 
lieved them to be the Holcombe brothers, their full beards 
threw some doubt upon the matter. However, when we 
noticed that they had discovered us and were getting out 
of the carriage, we were assured of their identity and has- 
tened to the fence to meet them; hut before we could 
reach the fence they had both leaped over and were ready 
to receive us in the garden. 

I must be excused from giving further particulars of 
this happy meeting with our soldiers, more than to say 
that there was a hitter dreg in the cup when we missed 
the youngest and tenderest of the three, for Edward was 
not with them. 

“I imagine, from what I have heard, William, that you 
boys leaped the breastworks of the enemy with as much 


332 


FOKESTFIELD 


alacrity as yau did that fence/^ exclaimed Captain Kuffin, 
as he stood near the carriage and witnessed the feat. 

^‘Well, captain,” replied William Holcombe, with mod- 
esty, ‘Ve’d prefer to discuss the subject of peace now 
rather than that of war.” 

^^Yes, you are right, William,” rejoined Captain Euffin; 
^^and I beg your pardon for the untimely compliment.” 
And, handing the light baggage of the soldiers over the 
fence, he got into the carriage and drove away, prom- 
ising, upon the request of Cousin Jane, to call and see us 
soon. 

We then repaired to the house by way of the burnt man- 
sion, when upon reaching the spot we stopped. 

^‘This was an. awful deed,” said William Holcombe, ^^Dut 
only one in a thousand committed in different parts of 
the South. The people in Alabama,” he went on, ^^have 
reason to be thankful that their state was not ravaged by 
the enemy as was Virginia.” He then paused, and as the 
memory of his pleasant associations with the old mansion 
came back to him, the tears began to flow down<^his manly 
cheeks, and in silence we then passed on. 

Soon we had reached the overseer’s house, but not to 
the surprise of the rest of the family, for Alice and We^ 
nona had kept a sharp lookout and had discovered the 
visitors soon after they had appeared in the- garden. So 
they all, including Elizabeth and the children, were pre- 
pared to give them a more formal reception. And there 
were also Aunt Caroline, Jim and Martha, who had come 
out to meet ^^Marse William and Marse Jesse.” Suffice it 
to say that the meeting of husband and father with his 
wife and children after four perilous years of separation is 
too sacred a scene to intrude upon, and I shall not attempt 
to place it upon record, more than to say that the captain 
had to spend some time in becoming reacquainted with 


FOEESTFIELD 


333 


them, and especially the children, who refused to acknowl- 
edge so bearded a man to he their father. 

After supper Jim brought out the carriage and conveyed 
our soldiers, accompanied by Elizabeth and the children, 
over to Mr. John Holcombe’s to spend the night. Next to 
meeting his wife and children, the captain wished to meet 
his father, mother and sister as soon as possible; besides, 
J esse Holcombe was anxious to see his own family and that 
of his father’s without delay. 

The next day being the Sabbath, upon which religious 
services were held at the neighborhood church, quite a 
number of returned soldiers met there and took the oppor- 
tunity to greet one another as well as their old citizen 
friends. A number of Federal soldiers from the garrison 
at Hunterstown were present also, and the occasion re- 
minded us of the last Sabbath before our soldiers departed 
for the front four years previous, save for the presence of 
the Federals. 

The minister, who was an ex-Confederate chaplain, se- 
lected as a subject that day which he thought appropriate 
to the occasion, and as a basis of his remarks he chose the 
following words of Jesus, spoken from the cross: ‘fa- 
ther, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Said 
he: ^‘My friends, this is the time for reconciliation and 
for peace. You have engaged for four years in a war 
vrhich brought the people of your common country into 
deadly conflict, and it has pleased God that the Union 
cause should triumph and that the Confederate cause 
should go down in defeat. And no doubt in that conflict 
both sides have done what they thought to be their duty, 
and the whole world has been forced to stand in astonish- 
ment at your heroism and your prowess. 

^^But as the war is over and the harboring of animosity 
toward your former foes can do no good, I advise you to 


334 


FOEESTFIELD 


sheathe the blade of revenge with the sword of battle .and 
extend to each other the hand of brotherly love. 

^^It has been said that gratitude is the noblest senti- 
ment of the human heart; but I beg leave to place forgive- 
ness of enemies one niche higher. Gratitude receives its 
gift in advance, but forgiveness of enemies pays in the 
coin of sacrifice for a favor that it may never receive. The 
great qualities of the moral code may shine in the religious 
firmament as rival stars in their brilliancy; but it is the 
resplendent star of forgiveness that, like the sun, floods the 
universe of righteousness with its glory, and at whose 
presence the lesser luminaries sink out of sight. 

^^Let us, then, seek to prove ourselves worthy of the 
words and example of Him who spoke as never man spoke, 
and who acted as never man acted; and, throwing aside 
the encumbrance of all worldly motives, let us rise to 
the elevation of the cross and pray with the divine and 
immortal Martyr: Tather, forgive them; for they know 
not what they do.’” 

The eloquence of the preacher had a sensible effect, and 
when he closed the congregation, especially the soldiers, 
including the Federals, were in tears. But the climax of 
the occasion was not reached until a Federal officer, who 
had lost his left arm in battle, rose from his seat, ap- 
proached the speaker and extended his only hand, saying : 
^^God bless you, my brother; may your words to-day prove 
a prophecy to present fulfillment, and may the North and 
the South begin this day to live in peace.” 

This was the signal for a general handshaking of recon- 
ciliation, socially as well as politically, and the whole con- 
gregation moved as one man toward the preacher and gave 
him their hands. There was also in the assembly a Con- 
federate officer who had lost his left arm in battle, and as 
the two one-armed officers, who had fought on opposing 


FORESTFIELD 


335 


sides, caught sight of each other, they rushed toward one 
another as if by one impulse and clasped hands; and as I 
witnessed that cor(}ial handshake between former foes I 
felt that the Scriptural injunction had been conspicuously 
fulfilled: “If thy heart he as my heart, give me thine 
hand.’^ And I thought that, perhaps, that little country 
church had never witnessed before a holier scene. 

Captain Euffin, who had been an officer in the Mexican 
war, was well prepared to appreciate this soldiers’ love- 
feast, and when the congregation had been dismissed he 
gathered about him, out of doors, a group of both Federals 
and Confederates and congratulated them upon the happy 
turn of the first religious service held in the neighborhood 
since the proclamation of peace. 

It was quite pathetic to see the Confederates in their 
worn and faded gray in comparison with the bright and 
blue uniforms of the Federals. Indeed, some of them, in 
order to present as comely an appearance as possible, had 
spliced out their ragged suits with citizens’ clothes. One 
would have on a home-made straw hat; another a home- 
made wool hat, and yet another an old fur hat that had 
been worn before the war. Here a brown jeans vest would 
]ye fitted to a pair of gray pantaloons and a gray jacket; 
and there a pair of copperas-dyed pantaloons would serve 
with a gray coat; and many who had left for the front 
four years before with clean-shaven faces had returned 
with scraggy beards ; and others, with their long hair rest- 
ing upon their shoulders, looked like Nazarites upon whose 
heads and faces neither scissors nor razors had ever come. 

But the well-kept boys in blue knew what hearts of 
steel beat beneath those beggarly garbs when upon the 
field of battle and what sensitive souls moved toward the 
sufferers of both friend and foe upon the proclamation of 
the armistice, 


336 


FOEESTFIELD 


CHAPTEE XVII. 

AN UNCONQUERED HERO. 

U PON the afternoon of that Sabbath of reconciha- 
tion at our country church, a young man, foot- 
sore and weary, approached the humble home of a 
settler among the mountains of western Virginia and asked 
the privilege of spending the night. He seemed to be 
about twenty-five years of age, and was dressed in a suit of 
citizens’ clothes which, evidently, had not been made to 
order — at least for himself. Upon his shoulder he carried 
what might have been mistaken for a rather large stick 
wrapped in strips of cloth, and which terminated at the 
upper end in a large ball covered with the same material; 
while there was suspended upon this peculiar cloth-cov- 
ered staff a small and unassuming bundle. These consti- 
tuted the entire outfit of the traveler, save a revolver which 
was concealed about his person. 

From the mere appearance of the stranger one could not 
have judged him, positively, to be either a citizen, a Fed- 
eral or a Confederate. 

As the times were out of joint and dread suspicion 
seemed to attach itself to every stranger, the man of the 
mountain house was at a loss at first to answer the travel- 
er’s request, for fear of harboring an enemy rather than 
entertaining an angel unawares; and, feeling that it 
would be in vain to ask an explanation which would be re- 
liable, he resolved to strike a neutral balance, ask no ques- 


FOEESTFIELD 


337 


tions and receive the traveler upon his present and appar- 
ent merits. More especially was he prompted to do so 
because of a threatening storm which was then brewing 
along the western mountain peaks. 

^^Come in, sir,” said the settler; ^^and we will do the 
best we can for you. I could hardly turn a person away 
into such threatening weather.” And both the language 
and accent of the speaker showed that he was not a native 
of that primitive region, but one who had been reared 
along the thoroughfare of civilization. 

^^Thank you, sir,” replied the traveler, as he entered 
the rude gate; ‘‘I certainly appreciate your hospitality.” 
And the feelings of the two men coalesced, in spite of all 
former estrangement, as two drops of water when they 
touch. 

The host then led the way into the housei — ^which was a 
log structure of three or four rooms and a long porch in 
front — and the guest followed gladly, accepted a proffered 
chair upon the latter and felt at once that he had found a 
place of welcome rest. And when he had enjoyed a drink 
of fresh water from the mountain spring and was about to 
experience that reaction of feeling which would set him at 
ease, even in the home of a stranger, the elements became 
suddenly dark, and the approaching storm swept down the 
mountain-side with a roar of wind, an explosion of thun- 
der, a flash of lightning and a crash of hail that would 
have stunned the stoutest heart. But ere the storm had 
struck, a youth astride of a horse rapidly approached the 
gate, dismounted, urged his steed toward the open barn, 
cleared the fence at a bound and rolled onto the porch 
without ceremony. This was the only son of the family 
returning from some friendly call of the day. And as the 
storm increased in fury the three upon the porch retired 
into the family room, where the stranger was introduced 


338 


FOEESTFIELD 


not only to the son of the house, hut also to the only 
daughter, who had assumed the household duties of her 
father’s home in the absence of her deceased mother. 

But the reader need not begin to speculate upon theiout- 
come of this meeting between the young traveler and the 
daughter of the mountain home in matters of love lest he 
should be disappointed, for I cannot vouch for the sequel, 
however significant the antecedents may appear. Suffice 
it to say that a pretty face and a benign countenance under 
a hospitable roof, in contrast with the gloom and terror of 
a raging storm without, must needs affect the heart of any- 
one who is not dead to the tender passion. 

Soon the storm passed away and left the feelings of the 
inmates of the mountain house as clear and crisp as the 
unclouded sky and the electrified air of the mountain for- 
est. 

As the night approached, the son of the house went about 
his evening duties around the barn, the daughter repaired 
to the kitchen to prepare supper, while the father took 
advantage of their absence to discover aU that was proper 
concerning the history of his stranger-guest. 

‘‘Excuse me, my young friend,” apologized the host; 
“but I should like to know something of the history of the 
person whom I undertake to entertain under my roof in 
the midst of these suspicious times. Where are you from 
and where are you going?” 

“You certainly have the right to ask such a question, 
sir,” replied the guest; “and if I did not answer you can- 
didly I should be unworthy of your hospitality. But, of 
course, what I shall say to you shall be in strict confidence, 
and I shall trust you implicitly not to betray me; though 
I do not know whether you are, politically, my friend or 
my foe.” 

“You need fear nothing upon that score,” rejoined the 


FOEESTFIELD 


339 


host; I could not aSord to betray the confidence of 
one permitted to share my hoard and shelter. Express 
yourself as freely as you may feel disposed.^’ 

At this juncture the daughter came into the room for 
some purpose, and as the stranger glanced at her beautiful 
and benign countenance he felt in his heart that he would 
risk nothing in revealing his true history to the inmates of 
a home where dwelt such a specimen of womanhood; and 
as she returned to the kitchen he looked at the father and 
remarked : 

“If you will excuse me I will proceed and relate to you 
at length my immediate history, and particularly that of 
about six weeks previous, and when I am through you can 
ask me any question you may see fit.’^ 

“Certainly,^^ responded the host, “I shall be glad to 
hear you.^^ 

The young man adjusted himself in his chair, and in a 
calm and candid tone proceeded with his narrative as fol- 
lows : 

“I am a Confederate soldier, and I occupy a very un- 
usual attitude toward the cause for which I have been 
fighting.^^ As he said this he could not refrain from look- 
ing into the face of his auditor to see what effect the state- 
ment had made upon him. But the other, being a man 
who could control his feelings, made no sign whatever 
upon which the speaker could rely as an interpreter. “For 
when I enlisted in the Confederate army,” he went on, “I 
took a pledge before God that I would never surrender to 
the enemy. I might be helplessly wounded, overcome by 
main strength, or killed, I reasoned, but so long as I re- 
tained my strength and weapons I would never surrender. 
My friends tried to persuade me to abandon my resolution, 
but I refused to yield, and I stand by it to-day with as 
much determination as ever. 


340 


FORESTFIELD 


to the siege of Petersburg I had never had the op- 
portunity of putting my resolution to the test, although I 
took part in nearly every battle in which my command 
participated, from the first battle of Manassas. We gen- 
erally gained the victory, hut if not, we always managed to 
make our escape. 

^^You no doubt have heard of the night attack upon 
Fort Steadman made by General Gordon, I suppose?” 
asked the speaker. 

‘^Oh, yes, hut not of the particulars,” replied the host, 
will then relate them, and particularly those bearing 
upon the part which I sustained to the affair,” volunteered 
the speaker. 'Tort Steadman lay directly in front of Gen- 
eral Gordon’s line, within about two hundred yards of it, 
and commanded a very important part of the Federal 
works. 

"One morning at early dawn, toward the end of March, 
our column moved noiselessly but swiftly forward, unno- 
ticed by the Federals, and in a few minutes we reached 
the enemy’s works, when the surprised garrison of the fort 
awoke to find their stronghold in the possession of their 
foes. The guns of the enemy were then turned upon their 
neighboring works, and soon several batteries to the right 
and left were cleared of their defenders and occupied by 
the Confederates. About three or four thousand of our 
men had thus gained access to the defenses of the enemy; 
and, although a strong reserve force awaited orders to sup- 
port the assaulting column, the order, for some reason, was 
not given, and General Gordon with his small force was 
left to bear the counter assault of the whole Federal army. 
As a result, a considerable portion of his command was 
unable to withdraw and remained prisoners in the hands 
of the enemy, while many lay dead or wounded upon the 
recaptured works. 


FORESTFIELD 


341 


I was a lieutenant in our company, it fell to my lot 
to lead a portion of it in the assault; but when the com- 
mand was given to retire to our own works, about ten of 
us were cut off by the Federals. Then came to me, in re- 
newed force, my resolution not to surrender, and I began 
to look about for a way of escape; but, realizing that I 
could not get back to our own line without being mortally 
wounded or killed, I separated from my comrades and 
rushed in the direction of an opening which led me further 
into the enemy’s lines. 

‘^Having made my way without opposition for some dis- 
tance under the cover of the faint light, I was suddenly 
confronted by a number of the enemy and ordered to sur- 
render. This I refused to do, but drew my revolver and 
fired into the squad and rushed through them; and, al- 
though they returned the fire, I was not struck, but con- 
tinued on my way. Then creeping upon my hands and 
knees between the pickets, I made my way into the woods, 
and, pressing on, I soon found myself outside of the Fed- 
eral lines and out of reach of immediate danger. 

^^Going up to a farm-house, where I found sympathizers, 
I procured this suit of citizens’ clothes, put them on and 
rolled up my Confederate uniform into a bundle, and, 
wrapping m}?^ sword up in layers of cloth, I then suspended 
the bundle upon it and proceeded upon my way; for I had 
determined that, if I should ever reach home I would carry 
with me my uniform and my sword. 

‘T have now been in hiding for six weeks or more, hop- 
ing to find someone who might befriend me in my purpose 
never to surrender to the enemy; and as this seems to be a 
locality comparatively safe from discovery, my desire is to 
remain here until the necessity of making a surrender or of 
taking the oath of allegiance has passed. And if you feel 
that you can assist me in carrying out my resolution I shall 


342 


FOEESTFIELD 


appreciate it; but if it be contrary to your policy, I will 
move on until I reach a more congenial locality/^ 

The speaker then paused, bowed his head and waited 
anxiously for the reply of his host. 

^^My young friend,’^ replied the host, '^you are welcome 
to remain with us as long as it is necessary toward the ful- 
fillment of your resolution; and there is but one general 
condition required of you, that you assist us in our efforts 
to make a living and behave yourself like a gentleman, 
which. I take you to be. My condition is similar to yours, 
and I trust that our associations may prove to be a mutual 
help in the fellowship of suffering. When Sheridan made 
his destructive raid down the Shenandoah Valley our home 
lay within the sweep of his vandal arms, and when he had 
passed there was nothing left about which to rally. Our 
beautiful mansion lay in ashes and the wife and mother 
of our household lay under the sod; and I am here among 
the mountains, with my two children, as a refugee from 
the devastations of war. If you can share our depriva- 
tions with us you are welcome to whatever comfort you 
may derive from the situation.” 

When the host had closed his brief but sad statement, 
the tears were running down his cheeks and his frame was 
tremulous with emotion. 

‘^Thank you, sir,” responded the stranger; “I shall be 
glad to accept your generous offer, and I shall try to faith- 
fully fulfill the condition attached to it.” 

By this time the early evening shadows of that moun- 
tain district had settled over all and told that the night 
was near, when the daughter announced that supper was 
ready and led the way to the dining-room. The meal was 
simple but well prepared, and indicated that the training 
of the fair young housekeeper had not been neglected. 
And the group, under the stimulus of the supper table, 


FOEESTFIELD 


343 

were talkative and cheerful, and there arose between the 
host and his guest at once a spirit of good fellowship, for 
wherever the true elements of social companionship exist, 
even among strangers, they will attract each other and 
unite. The wandering stranger had found a temporary 
home and the man of the mountain-house, in his isolation, 
had secured a congenial associate. At least, it seemed so 
at that time. 

After supper the discussion of the heroic resolution of 
the young soldier was resumed and the host proceeded to 
propound to him a few questions concerning his motives in 
the matter. 

‘^Why did you first make such a pledge, that you would 
never surrender to the enemy?” asked the host. 

‘‘Because I believed that, if it was right for the South 
to secede and right to fight to sustain that secession at one 
time it would be right at all times, and that to surrender to 
her invaders and oppressors would be an acknowledgment 
that we were wrong.” 

“Oh no,” rejoined the host; “it would only show that 
you had been overpowered and not convinced.” 

“Yes, but it would also show that we did not prefer 
death to defeat,” replied the guest, “and that would 
weaken the cause. Thousands of men lost their lives for 
the cause of the Confederacy, and how much more is my 
life worth than theirs? Did they die in vain?” And when 
the young soldier said this he rose to his feet and strode 
across the room. 

“Well, if you will excuse me for asking a close question,” 
replied the host, “I will say: why did you not return to 
your command as soon as you escaped the Federal lines?” 

“Because I believed that the surrender of General Lee 
was merely a matter of time, and I did not wish to surren- 
der with him.” 


344 FORESTFIELD 

‘^But would you have been willing to fight to the death 
if he had said so?” 

certainly w'ould, and many others would have done 
the same. I do not think he should have surrendered at 
all.” 

‘‘Well, I think you are mistaken, my friend,” responded 
the host, in a deprecating tone; “it is always better to 
make terms than to he annihilated.” 

“No, sir! I believe with Patrick Henry, ‘give me lib- 
erty or give me death 1^ ” was the patriotic reply. 

While the host did not indorse the theory of his guest, 
he could not help admiring his chivalrous spirit, and he 
decided not to refer to the subject again, at least by way 
of opposition. 

But it was not long before the skeptical host and his 
household had the opportunity to witness a most heroic 
exemplification of that spirit of chivalry, the wisdom of 
which he so much doubted. Though he did not witness it 
himself, he came to a knowledge of it by a way which al- 
most led him to the stake of living martyrdom. He is the 
true hero who proves himself so. 


POEESTFIELD 


345 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A WILLING SACRIFICE. 

U NFORTUNATELY for isolated households of that 
mountain district of western Virginia, there 
prowled a band of lawless reprobates who feared 
not God nor regarded man, nor respected the holiest rights 
of the fair and innocent. Robbery, murder and the de- 
spoilment of homes constituted their diabolical pastime, 
and though they affected the role of the soldier, they were 
neither Federals nor Confederates. 

About a month after the arrival of the young stranger 
at the mountain-house, and when the family had learned 
to trust him, the father was called away from home upon 
an urgent errand, leaving his son and daughter under the 
protection of his guest. He was to he absent about a week. 

The day following the departure of the father the son, 
who was in search of a strayed cow along the mountain 
slopes not far from the house, discovered two horsemen 
riding rapidly down a ravine, and whom he recognized, 
from their accoutrements, as members of the lawless hand. 
They had evidently become aware of the father’s absence 
and were doubtless maneuvering for an attack upon the 
supposed defenseless home. Sweeping around the base of 
a hill, their spirited steeds striking fire from the flinty 
road, they came suddenly face to face with the son of the 
house, and with a deceitful smile paid him a courtesy and 
dashed off into the mountain forests. 

Returning to the house at once the lad made known his 
suspicions to the guest, and they set about making prepara- 


346 


FOEESTFIELD 


tions for a defense. The daughter of the home was not 
notified of the suspected attack, lest she he caused to suffer 
the unnecessary suspense of an unfounded suspicion. Sev- 
eral times had she been alarmed by reports of the kidnap- 
ping of her neighboring friends. 

As the long summer afternoon wore away and the dread- 
ed night approached, the guest and the lad could scarcely 
conceal their growing apprehensions from the discovery of 
the daughter. But conducting their preparations in as 
secret a manner as possible, they disturbed not the cheery 
songs of that merry heart, whose melody filled the house 
throughout the day. 

When the guest and the brother seemed not to relish 
their supper and the daughter questioned them concern- 
ing their lack of appetite, they made some evasive explana- 
tion and thus pushed their apprehensions once more into 
the background; and after an unusually short stay upon 
the porch in comparative silence looking out upon the 
glens and steeps of the solemn mountain all flooded with 
the mystic light of a meridian moon, the three went into 
the house, the daughter to her room across the hall and 
the guest and the son to the family room, where they re- 
sumed their preparations to defend the home, if neces- 
sary, at all hazards. 

As midnight approached and the guest sat with his re- 
volver in hand, while the lad stood near the window lean- 
ing upon his gun and looking out toward a section of the 
road which wound its way down the mountain-side, there 
appeared under the bright light of the moon two horse- 
men riding in the direction of the house, one of whom was 
leading an extra horse. Immediately the lad turned to- 
ward the guest and whispered : ‘^They’re coming!” 

^^You had better notify your sister,” remarked the guest, 
^^and advise her to remain in her room behind a locked 


FOEESTFIELD 


347 

door. She might become startled in her sleep, should they 
insist upon intruding, and run into danger.” And as he 
said this he. whirled the cylinder of his pistol to see that 
there was no hitch. The lad obeyed the suggestion and 
soon returned much gratified with the calm and heroic 
spirit of his sister. 

The guest placed his revolver in his pocket in easy reach, 
the lad set his gun in a convenient place and the two 
awaited the coming of the raiders wdth as much composure 
as they could command. 

'‘We shall not oppose their coming into the porch,” said 
the guest; “but if they offer to enter the rooms we shall 
resist them.” 

“I hope they won’t stop at all,” responded the lad, in a 
rather depressing tone. And he drew a long breath, thrust 
his hands into his trousers pockets and advanced toward 
the window and looked out. 

By this time the horsemen had reached the gate and 
were dismounting, and when they had hitched their steeds 
they entered the yard and stalked into the porch. As they 
approached the house the metal of their visible revolvers 
glittered in the light of the moon and their grim faces 
were magnified in their repulsiveness. The guest and the 
lad advanced from their room, closed and locked the door 
and met the intruders on the porch. 

“Where is the man of the house?” asked one of the ruf- 
fians, in a curt tone. 

“He’s not at home, sir!” replied the guest. And the in- 
quirer cleared his throat as if embarrassed at the unex- 
pected presence of a full-grown man. 

“I hope he didn’t take his money with him!” rejoined 
the ruffian. 

“I know nothing about that!” replied the guest, as he 
gathered himself up with resentment. 


348 FOEESTFIELD 

^Tather has no money/^ interrupted the lad, in a plead- 
ing tone. 

^^You must have been expecting company to-night, the 
way you are sitting up with the house,” remarked the ruf- 
fian. 

^^We didn’t care to he taken by surprise,” responded the 
guest, candidly. 

‘^Well, we want to go into those rooms and see if we 
can’t find a young lady to grace that extra saddle-horse out 
there,” replied the raider. 

‘^Oh no, Jeff; we’ll not violate the rules of propriety, 
hut let the boy go in and tell her to get ready to go with 
us while we wait. Her lover. Captain Meadows, has sent 
us to escort her to the wedding.” As the other ruffian said 
this he laughed affectedly. 

‘^If that is what you want you might as well leave now!” 
replied the guest, with much force. And he moved his 
hand involuntarily toward his revolver. 

^^If the boy will not take the message I’ll take it my- 
self,” remarked the ruffian. And he advanced and laid 
his hand upon the knob of the door of the daughter’s room. 
But the guest, who was watching his movements, stepped 
up, seized him by the collar and jerked him into the mid- 
dle of the hall; and, taking his stand with his back to the 
door, remarked: ‘^Stand back, sir! You ruffian! You 
can’t enter here!” 

The discomfited kidnapper, who had regained his bal- 
ance, then turned, and, drawing his revolver, said: ^^The 
lady or your life, sir!” 

^‘My life then; for you can’t enter this room, sir, except 
over my dead body!” replied the guest, as he drew his re- 
volver. 

The lad, seeing that the crisis had come, slipped away 
and seized his gun, and, placing himself where he could 


FOEESTFIELD 


349 


watch the proceedings, determined to fire with effect, when 
he thought it necessary. 

‘‘We will give you only two minutes to decide!” said one 
of the ruffians, as they both stood each with a revolver in 
his hand. “Be quick about it!” 

But the brave defender, determined not to allow his as- 
sailants to get the advantage of him, did not wait on time, 
but quickly drew his revolver and pulled the trigger, but it 
failed to fire. Then his assailants, seeing his predicament, 
fired simultaneously, and two cruel balls entered the brave 
man’s body at the same time; but, being supported by the 
excitement, he refused to fall, and when he had readjusted 
his weapon he placed a bullet into the breast of the fore- 
most ruffian and then sank to the fioor. The lad, seeing 
the condition of his friend, then fired his gun and struck 
the wounded assailant, who> also fell at the feet of his vic- 
tim. The other assailant then turned and fired, without 
eff’ect, in the direction from whence came the last shot; 
but when he saw the lad advance and draw a bead upon 
him, he turned and fied, mounted his horse and rode rap- 
idly away, driving the other two horses before him. 

When the daughter, who had risen and dressed at the 
suggestion of her brother, heard the reports of the pistols, 
she screamed and ran to the door and attempted to open it; 
but, failing to do so, the brother approached and opened it 
for her and assisted her, over the prostrate forms of the 
wounded men, into the hall. But when she discovered 
that no one had been killed she became calm again and 
proceeded to do what she could for the comfort of the suf- 
ferers; and while her brother went to the spring for fresh 
water, she procured two pillows and placed them under 
the heads of the victims. The brother then mounted a 
horse and went in search of a physician and help, leaving 
the sister to watch the wounded men. 


350 


FORESTFIELD 


The menace of death which hung over the two prostrate 
forms banished all enmity from their hearts, and they lay 
near each other as it were two friends in a common suffer- 
ing. Being so badly wounded they were scarcely able to 
move, and not a word escaped their lips, save an occasional 
groan. And here I leave the fair young watcher with her 
friend and her enemy alone among the solemn mountains 
and with the light of the declining moon thrown like a 
shroud over all. 

Soon the brother returned with a physician and other 
help, when the wounded men were taken up and placed 
in bed, and when palliatives had been administered they 
fell into a comfortable sleep. 

The next day the friends of the outlaw came, with 
shame-facedness and regret, and conveyed him to a dis- 
tant neighborhood, where I will leave him to die, perhaps, 
as an example to his comrades in crime, or perchance to 
recover and to become a better man. 

At the appointed time the father of the mountain home 
returned to behold a scene which made his heart sink 
within him, and then to rise in exultation and pride that 
he had received under his roof and trusted a stranger who 
was willing to give his life for the protection of the honor 
of his household. And when his thoughts recurred to the 
peculiar vow of the young soldier, the wisdom of which he 
had once doubted, he was convinced that he was sincere 
and that he was capable of verifying its truth either in war 
or in peace. 

The brave and chivalrous guest, although shot through 
both lungs, survived, and in a few months, under the 
treatment of the physician and the kindly nursing of the 
daughter, became apparently convalescent. He had re- 
gained his strength so as to be able to walk about the place 
and to stroll occasionally into the mountain forests. But 


FORESTFIELD 


351 


to the disappointment and pain of the family, he soon de- 
veloped the symptoms of pulmonary consumption and the 
signs of an early dissolution appeared upon his manly 
young face. And as he gradually grew worse, his longing 
for his home in Alabama grew more and more intense, 
until he resolved that, although it might prove the last act 
of expiring life, he would attempt to reach the loved ones 
whom he had not seen for five long and arduous years. 

But at the same time there were other attractions draw- 
ing him in another direction. The daughter of the moun- 
tain home, whom he had saved by the gift of his own 
blood and life, could not refrain from casting her admira- 
tion, mingled with a modicum of modest affection, at his 
feet. How could she, then, become reconciled to the de- 
parture of her cavalier out of her sight, and that forever! 
She would have him linger longer in her presence that she 
might yet show more abundantly her gratitude, ere he 
should be called away by death and where she could see 
him laid beneath the mountain sod which had been conse- 
crated by his incomparable heroism. 

As the year passed slowly away and the spring of 1866 
came laughing over the mountain peaks. Death had evi- 
dently set his seal upon the brow of the hero, and all felt 
that it would never be withdrawn. And as his Life ebbed 
slowly away he resolved to make one more effort to reach 
his home. Accordingly, as he sat one day upon the porch 
with the daughter of the house, with no one present to dis- 
turb the heart-to-heart conversation, he remarked: ‘T 
have determined at last to make my way home. While I 
would be glad to remain here longer, where I have been 
so kindly treated, I feel that it is my duty, as well as privi- 
lege, to return to my people before I die. And, although 
I may not be permitted to look long into their faces and 
to enjoy their presence for a great while, yet I wish to be- 


35 ^ 


FOEESTFIELD 


hold once more the familiar scenes which I still love. And 
besides/^ he went on, “I could not die satisfied did I not 
enter my old home once more dressed in my Confederate 
uniform and with my sword by my side.” And as he said 
this under the excitement of an und3dng patriotism, he 
rose to his feet, and, lifting his emaciated hand upward, 
he exclaimed in an unusually strong voice : ‘^Let him ac- 
knowledge defeat who will! Let him accept oppression 
with his life! And let him barter his honor for an igno- 
minious peace! But as for me, let my life blood seal in 
death my eternal devotion to liberty!” 

After a meager preparation for his departure, out of his 
scanty means and those of his friends, the day for his 
going arrived, when to him the skies seemed of a deeper 
blue, the springtime breezes more balmy, the flowers 
sweeter and the sunshine brighter, and the towering peaks 
of the mountains more majestic; yet the beautiful face and 
benign countenance which first greeted him at the moun- 
tain home, and which had shown that the vitality of its 
comeliness was a good and sympathetic heart, was the chief 
attraction which held him fast to those primitive soli- 
tudes. How could he break away, he thought, from such 
sacred associations and bid farewell to the object of his 
highest heroism or desert the spot where he first stood 
face to face with a martyr’s death! Yet it must be done, 
for there awaited his coming in the land of his birth a 
loving mother still clinging to an expiring hope. 

I shall not attempt to describe the parting scene which 
took place in that mountain house, but suffice it to say that 
the grateful guest bade farewell to his adopted home with 
a heavy heart and was soon speeding upon his way to- 
ward his native hills and vales and to the fond embraces 
and loving reception of his own people. 


FOEESTFIELD 


353 


A railroad train was approaching a certain station with- 
in Northern Alabama — ^the whistle blew, the hell rang and 
the wheels ceased to turn, and a young man, dressed in the 
uniform of a Confederate soldier and carrying in his hand 
a staff-like object wrapped in strips of cloth, descended the 
steps and wended his way, on foot, in the direction of his 
old home which he had left five years before. As he made 
his way feebly along the road — ^for he was sick unto death 
— the gladness of his heart at the thought of reaching 
home once more gave him renewed strength, and the hope 
of a long and happy life sprang afresh in his soul. 

Approaching the immediate precincts of his home, he 
began to recognize more distinctly the old familiar land- 
marks, and with the delight of his heart his bodily 
strength revived until he felt as he did upon the day when 
he went out in his robust strength to fight for his country. 
And, expecting every moment to come into full view of 
the dear old home, he reached an open space in the forest, 
where the light of the declining sun lingered upon the 
trees and the green sod, as if to welcome him in cheerful 
tenderness hack to the scenes of his boyhood. And to 
return the salute of the setting sun and to emphasize the 
fulfillment of his vow made when he enlisted as a Con- 
federate soldier, he stopped, unwrapped the staff-like ob- 
ject in his hand and placed the belt of his sword about his 
emaciated body and buckled it. Then, drawing himself 
up as best he could to his full height and fixing his eyes 
upon the distant horizon in the west, he drew the blade 
from the scabbard, and, thrusting its point upward into 
the red sunlight, he exclaimed: “Let him acknowledge 
defeat who will! Let him accept oppression with his hfe! 
And let him barter his honor for an ignominious peace! 
But as for me, let my life blood seal in death my eternal 
devotion to liberty!’^ And with a form as rigid and a 


354 


FOEESTT^IELD 


visage as pale as those of a statue and with a countenance 
illuminated by the light of an inner and undying patriot- 
ism, the young soldier stood as the personification of one 
who could make and keep a vow unto martyrdom. 

Eesuming his journey, he soon came upon the ashes and 
debris of a once magnificent mansion; and, recognizing it 
as the spot where once stood his own home, he sat himself 
down upon a fallen capital to rest and meditate. And as 
the sun sank below the hills he proceeded upon his way 
along the old-fashioned garden toward the overseer’s house. 


FOBESTFIELD 


355 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

THE MANY MANSIONS. 

W HEN the pleasure and noYelty of the arrival of 
William Holcombe and his brother from the 
war had abated to some degree, the absence of 
Edward and his rather uncertain fate began to press more 
sorely upon our feelings; and the fact that his captain had 
brought no further intelligence of his whereabouts sharp- 
ened more keenly the anguish of our disappointment. Es- 
pecially did Cousin Jane suffer severely the deprivation; 
for, as a mother, there was a void in her heart unknown to 
the hearts of others. 

Captain Holcombe, fearing more, perhaps, than he was 
willing to express, took care to bring home a few relics of 
the young soldieEs life, which he thought might recom- 
pense his friends to some extent for his absence. There 
was his gray cap which he had worn upon many a battle- 
field; a leather knapsack, in which he had carried his 
scanty rations and clothing upon the march, and his Mexi- 
can blanket, upon which he had slept for so many weary 
nights in camp and upon bivouac. And there, too, was the 
well-worn Bible given him by his mother when she bade 
him good-by and asked the blessings of God upon him 
amid the fiery trials of war. About these the affections of 
Cousin Jane seemed daily to revolve as mute but comfort- 
ing reminders of her absent son. 

Frequently she would take down the knapsack from the 
wardrobe and tenderly take out the gray cap, all covered 


356 


FOEESTFIELD 


with braid, and hold it upon one hand while she caressed 
it with the other. But if Charles should be near she would 
place the cap upon his head and look at him as if she saw 
in her grandson the image of her son, for it was said that 
Charles favored his Uncle Edward very much. And then 
she would take out his Bible and open it at the places 
which he had marked and read them over and over, com- 
ment upon their meaning and thank God that she had a 
soldier boy whose religion was not cast away amidst the 
temptations of war. Such passages as the following 
which were marked by pencil, she noted particularly: 
^^And the soldiers likewise demanded of him, saying : And 
what shall we do? And he said unto them: Do violence 
to no man, neither accuse any falsely; and he content with 
your wages/* She knew that Edward was kind-hearted 
and peaceable, and she had no fear of his violating the first 
part of this admonition. But she felt doubtful of the last 
part in regard to his wages. ‘Toor boy,” she would say, 
wonder how he could be contented with such meager 
pay, while subsisting upon such scanty fare.” But when 
she realized that her son was no mercenary soldier, she 
felt proud of him and understood it all. 

She would then turn to the account of Cornelius, the 
centurion of the Italian band and the devout soldier who 
waited upon him, and wonder if her tender boy ever re- 
ceived encouragement from some faithful chaplain like 
St. Peter. 

But it was with much more comfort that Cousin Jane 
found the leaves of the Bible turned down at the spiritual 
significance of the soldier’s life : ''Thou, therefore, endnire 
hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ**; and "Fight 
the good fight of faith, lay hold upon eternal life.** And 
when she had exhausted the marked passages in the New 
Testament, she would resort to similar texts in the Old 


I^OEESTFIELD 


357 


Testament. maketh wars to cease unto the end of 

the earth; he hrealceth the how, and cutteth the spear in 
sunder; he hurneth the chariot in the fire** ; and, '"Be 
still and know that I am God,** ^Toor fellow/’ she would 
say, “he may never enjoy the pleasures of peace in this 
world, but I trust he has found an honorable discharge in 
that land where there are no wars nor rumors of wars.” 

There was no use attempting to convince Cousin Jane 
of the probability of Edward’s being captured and per- 
haps unable to reach home, even after he was released. 
Nor would she accept the theory that, perchance, he was 
so situated that he preferred to remain longer from home 
in order to prepare himself to make a more presentable 
appearance upon his arrival than did most of his com- 
rades; for Edward had a great deal of the pride of appear- 
ance. 

Sometimes Alice would say to Cousin Jane: “Mother, 
perhaps Edward has fallen in love with some Yankee girl 
and doesn’t wish to leave her behind. He may surprise 
you some day with a daughter-in-law.” 

To this Cousin Jane would reply with a faint smile : “I 
hardly think Edward could love anyone better than his 
mother, under the circumstances.” 

But Alice would never make such a suggestion to Mary 
Bee, for she knew the kind of reply she would receive. 
Poor Mary Bee, she was almost beside herself in regard to 
Edward’s long absence. “If he is living,” she would say, 
“he would certainly write to some of us.** Frequently she 
would speak of going in search of him, so anxious was she 
about his fate. 

Here was the trial of three loves — all in suspense as a 
victim upon the rack — knowing not when they should be 
drawn asunder. The mother’s heart breaking with the 
dread of losing a part of itself; a sister’s heart trembling 


358 


FORESTFIELD 


at the prospect of being severed from a life so long identi- 
fied with her own in blessed companionship, and an alien 
heart, yet different from the former two, agonizing on 
account of the dread of being excluded from happy asso- 
ciations of the future, which she had long enjoyed by an- 
ticipation. The human heart seems to he as a wheel of 
many spokes pointing in as many directions and feeling 
after the great rim of affection which holds it together. 
These three spokes were about to fall out of their places 
and mutilate the perfect round. 

The time passed on, spring had given place to summer 
and summer had advanced into autumn, but Edward had 
not arrived. Not even a word or a line had ever been re- 
ceived from him, although many ex-Confederates had re- 
turned home from the army of Northern Virginia, and of 
whom many inquiries had been made; and the suspense of 
his friends had begun to settle down into positive convic- 
tion that he would never return. And I must confess that 
I had long been influenced in my opinion by what he had 
said to me at our last nightly interview : “Cousin Morris, 
I shall never surrender to the enemy.” But I never com- 
municated my conclusions to anyone. They were too con- 
vincing. 

The hope of Cousin Jane being constantly and so long 
deferred made her sick at heart, and when that dying 
hope began to merge into despair, her life began to yield 
to the heavy pressure. Almost every night Edward would 
appear to her in her dreams and tantalize her with his 
presence and then withdraw with the departure of her 
slumbers; and as a partial relief she would relate her fortu- 
nate dream to any friend who would listen. 

Sometimes his life would appear to her in reversion, as is 
the habit of dreams, and he would stand in her presence as 
a little child again. Then she would look, as it were, into 


FOEESTFIELD 


359' 


his liquid blue eyes, stroke his sunny brown locks and kiss 
his soft and rosy cheek, as in other days. Or, perhaps, he 
would kneel, in vision, at her side to repeat his evening 
prayer ere she put him in his little trundle-bed. In that 
dreamland there was no war, no sad good-by, no dreadful 
battle, no fevered hospital and no protracted absence of 
separation; but all was peace, and presence, and health, and 
unutterable love. 

At last the health of Cousin J ane began to fail with the 
breaking of her heart. The frail receptacle that enclosed 
the restless and buffeting spirit of grief began to yield to 
the conflict within. The sharp blade, as it were, would 
cut the soft scabbard about it; or as a delicate flower 
blooming upon the north side of the hill shivers in the 
frosty blast of autumn, her gentle spirit shivered in the 
frigid gale of despair. 

When disease had well invaded the delicate frame with- 
in, it began to write an account of its devastations in visible 
lines without. The pale and shrunken cheeks, relieved 
only by an occasional flush and the unusual brightness of 
the eyes, all showed that Life stood at the door with his ex- 
piring candle, whose flickering light cast a sicklied glare 
over all as he was ready to step out and leave the earthly 
house in darkness. 

The autumn passed and winter followed on, and the 
springtime beckoned its coming, but there was no word 
from Edward, and with Cousin Jane it seemed only a mat- 
ter of time as regarded her departure from our presence. 
And I trust that a few extracts from her diary, which she 
began to keep with the beginning of her illness, will not 
be unacceptable to the reader, though written under the 
shadow of death. She wrote: 

“Jan. 8 — 1866. — This has been a pleasant day for the 
season, and as I felt much better than usual, I took a 


3G0 


FOKESTFIELD 


short walk. How the familiar objects about the place re- 
mind me of dear Edward! I could not help thinking of 
the day when he left us for the war. How strong and full 
of life was he then — but now I know not whether he be in 
his grave. Oh that he had died at home, where I could 
now visit his grave! But I hope that I may meet him 
again rejuvenated within the realms of immortal youth. 

‘^To-day seems a hand-pressure of spring upon the cheek 
of winter that brings out for a little while the sunshine 
and the clear blue skies. My friends seem much encour- 
aged about my condition, but I know better than they, 
and would not deceive them. I believe it to be but a tem- 
porary rally of nature still clinging unto life. 

‘^Mar. 15. — I am left alone for awhile this afternoon 
and, feeling comparatively comfortable, I will write down 
some meditations which crowd upon my mind. It is al- 
ways helpful to give vent to one’s feelings even upon the 
ear of the unconscious page. 

“As I look upon the sunny fields and shadowy woods 
from my window I feel as a caged bird that longs to trav- 
erse them upon wings of freedom. But I should not wish 
so, perhaps, for I would be as the moaning dove without 
a mate. Yet I am constrained to believe that the ashen 
pallor and rosy flush upon my cheeks are but the seals of 
death and the strange brightness of my eyes is but the last 
flash of light of life. 

“Apr. 10. — Looking out of my window to-day I feel 
like resuming the meditations that I indulged some three 
weeks ago, as I have written nothing in my diary since 
that beautiful day. I remember that someone has said 
that communion with nature cannot satisfy the longings 
of the immortal soul, for the soul is greater than nature. 
And I have realized myself, since my illness, that it is the 
thought of God beyond this material frame that opens up 


FOKESTFIELD 


361 


to us the avenue of trust and praise. These visible things 
must soon pass away, but the invisible mind shall live for- 
ever. As the years go by each circling of the sun brings 
all things nearer death. The flowers bloom, but soon 
perish in their beauty; the happy birds sing to-day, but 
shortly they shall fall into silence; the bright sun which 
arose this morning shall soon decline to his setting, and 
the dark night shall envelop all. Beauty must fade from 
the cheek of health and life vacate the vigorous form, 
when dust and ashes shall become the last visible objects 
of love. We should not be too fond of these perishable 
things, but fix our hopes on God and an endless life. 

‘^Apr. 30. — Upon the fifteenth day of next month I shall 
be — if I live — fifty-six years of age; but I have little hope 
of seeing it come upon the calendar. I feel, even now, 
that the world is receding from me and shall soon be be- 
yond my natural vision. While I love my friends and 
home and would be glad to remain longer among them, 
for their sake, I feel that it would be far better to be ab- 
sent from the body and to be present with the Lord. Oh 
that I could see my dear Edward before I go hence! 

feel to-day that fif the earthly house of this taber- 
nacle were dissolved that I have a building of God, a house 
not made with hands, eternal and in the heavens.’ Our 
earthly abodes may be destroyed, but we may have the 
satisfaction to hope that in our Heavenly Father’s house 
there are many mansions, whose maker and builder is 
God. 

‘T can scarcely hold my pen now, and I feel confident 
that if anything more about my life is written it must be 
done by someone else. I must here turn my gaze from the 
things that are seen toward the things that are not seen, 
realizing that the things which are seen are temporal, but 
the things which are not seen are eternal. At this, the 


363 FORESTFIELD 

close of the chapter of my life, let me write the word 
Farewell!” 

The month of May, 1866, reached the height of its repu- 
tation for freshness, brightness and quietude, and main- 
tained it until the unseasonable storm of sorrow burst 
upon the household of Forestfield a fortnight later. No 
sunshine was ever more lambent and benign; no skies ever 
reflected a more exquisite amethystine glow, and no pro- 
founder peace ever rested upon the vernal landscape. The 
lofty clouds which sailed like white-winged ships before 
the breeze and dappled the flelds with their shadows moved 
as if in their very motion there was rest. And all nature 
seemed to whisper softly: Peace. This was meet and 
proper, we thought, as so pure and gentle a spirit as Cou- 
sin Jane was passing away. 

At last the day of all other days in human lives came to 
Jane Trent Pemrose and put a period to her useful life 
and chilled the warm current of our abounding love. But 
we were thankful in the midst of our sorrow that death 
came not as a thief in the night, but as an honest, conge- 
nial messenger, and bade her kindly to come away to a 
higher, and holier, and happier home. 

Upon the afternoon of the 30th of May — ^the day upon 
which the messenger came — I entered the sick room and 
saw upon the pallid face of the sufferer the signiflcant 
signs of dissolution: the clammy sweat, the pinched nos- 
trils, the dry and drawn lips, the shallow, spasmodic 
breath. All the family had gathered in before me, except 
Jabez Johnson, who was walking aimlessly about the yard 
seeking some trivial excuse for being absent from the final 
struggle, and as he walked with his head hung down, an 
occasional groan would escape his lips and shake his rug- 
ged frame as the storm-wind bendeth the mountain oak. 
And I felt that a most grateful beneficiary was mourning 


FORESTFIELD 


363 


the departure of a most gracious benefactor. And when 
death had marred the benign countenance of his friend 
the old man refused to look upon the ruins, lest it deface 
from his mind the recollection of its symmetry and kindli- 
ness in life. 

On one side of the deathbed were Captain Holcombe, 
Elizabeth and their three children. On the other side 
were Alice, Wenona and their friend, Gladys Holcombe. 
Captain Euffin stood near the foot of the bed, and distrib- 
uted about the room were the old colored home-guard who 
never lost confidence in ^‘Miss Jane” : Aunt Caroline, Jim 
and Martha. 

As I approached the couch I was grieved to hear my 
dying kinswoman say : ^‘Come in, Cousin Morris, and let 
me speak to you all a few parting words before I go hence.” 
Though I was pleased at the same time to know that she 
thought of me in that trying hour, yet I must confess that 
the presence and furniture of death were always repulsive 
to me, and that I cared to have as little to do with it as 
possible. However, I struggled against my inclinations 
that day and stood my ground for the sake of Cousin Jane. 

“If Edward were only here,” she sighed, “I could die 
contented.” And then, as if falling into delirium, she 
looked up and said : “Tell Edward to come in and bid his 
mother good-by.” Then followed a short season of quiet 
sleep, while we all waited expectantly for the next return 
of reason and coherent speech. 

How fascinating the spectacle of death when one whom 
we believe to be worthy of victory is passing out! 

When the patient aroused again she looked upward and 
remarked: “Oh, what a beautiful place! See the angels 
going and coming; how happy they look; there they dwell 
in peace forever more. No war, no consuming flame, no 
ashes, no desolation there.” 


364 : 


FORESTFIELD 


Her mind had evidently swung as a pendulum between 
earth and heaven, now touching the ruins of her once 
beautiful home and then the spires of the Hew Jerusa- 
lem. 

As if realizing her surroundings again, and seeing us 
weep, she said : ^‘Don’t grieve for me nor for our ruined 
home; in our FatheFs house are many mansions, and room 
enough for all. We shall all go up, by and by, and abide 
forever more.” She then fell into a gentle sleep and did 
not awake again until just before the sun went down. 

As the day was drawing to a close and the declining sun 
shot his golden beams into the window and into the cham- 
ber of approaching death, we were all satisfied that when 
that material light should withdraw beyond the hills the 
light of our home would pass out with it. And we began 
to prepare, as the best we could, for the painful ordeal. 

When we had gathered for the final scene and were 
waiting silently for the last words of the dying saint, 
someone beckoned me to the door and bade me look 
toward the garden. When I did so I saw a man making 
his way slowly toward the house, who appeared to be weary 
and footsore. And I whispered: ‘‘Edward!” 

“Ho, it cannot be,” said someone. 

“I trust it is,” remarked another. 

“I know it is,” I rejoined, with unseasonable empha^s. 
And I stepped toward the gate and seized the lost young 
soldier by the hand and fell upon his neck and wept. At 
this signal many of the household came forward with as 
much composure as the occasion would allow and sadly 
welcomed him home again. As he stepped upon the porch 
there came from the chamber of death a gentle and sweet 
voice : “Tell Edward to come in and bid his dying mother 
good-by.” A strange intuition seemed to assure the dying 
mother of the presence of her lost son; and, staggering 


FOEESTFIELD 


365 


forward as one drunk with grief, the young man entered 
the room, fell upon his knees at his mother^s bedside and 
imprinted a kiss upon her cheek and whispered : ‘‘At last, 
mother!^’ The mother laid her cold and emaciated hand 
upon the young man’s head and whispered : “Edward, at 
last!” And that was all. 

A strange and deep silence then settled upon the scene, 
and we waited for the next act in the sad drama. But it 
came not, for the hand of death had let fall the curtain, 
which would rise no more. And when the form of the 
young soldier, who had never surrendered to the enemy, 
was laid beside that of his mother, still grasping his sword, 
two fond and happy spirits had taken their flight together 
for the many mansions in their Heavenly Father’s house. 

The sun went down behind the hills; darkness settled 
upon the world; the lamps were lighted; the watchers took 
their places to guard the dead. Then the morning came; 
a double funeral was held in the little country church; 
two coffins were placed side by side within the same grave; 
one mound of earth was heaped above them both, and cov- 
ered with sweet flowers. The benediction was then pro- 
nounced, and we all turned away and said in our stricken 
hearts: “Farewell.” The young soldier who would not 
surrender to the enemy of his country had surrendered to 
the great conqueror, Death. 



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